Back to Basics 2: Encontrar una Manera
by corneroffandom
Summary: Following his attack on Ricardo Rodriguez, Alberto Del Rio has to quickly learn how to adjust to this new reality.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Months ago, I decided if WWE ever lost their minds and split Ricardo and ADR, I would spin off BtB. It happened sooner than I expected- hell, the spin off is happening sooner than I expected (It took me over a year after Mizorrison's split to even start BtB) but... yeah. If I won't have much to write for Mejor Amigos or OYE from here on, I might as well, huh? So here we go =X

It had started when Ricardo Rodriguez had been suspended a little over a month ago for wellness. Alberto Del Rio had done what he could to make it easier for the younger man, using his influence and money as needed to ensure that the suspension wasn't announced on TV, the story making the rounds being that he was off recovering from Ziggler's attack at the Feista. It had worked well, but despite it all, Ricardo's misery only grew more obvious with each passing day that he'd been unable to do his job, Del Rio's worry growing for him every time he came back from the road to find the situation worse.

More time to himself while on the road, during the unending flights and hours spent in hotels trying to find some rest, causes Del Rio to ponder over the past few years that they'd spent together, Ricardo's focus always on his employer's well-being instead of his own. When Big Show had beat him to unconsciousness and he'd been gone a month recovering, all he could think about was strategies for Money in the Bank that could help Del Rio. Upon Sheamus brogue kicking him into needing a neck brace for another month, he'd continued to push himself to show up at all events, all court proceedings, anything he thought might help the Mexican aristocrat in his upcoming title opportunity. And it hadn't ended there, Swagger had broken his ankle and he still worked through it, placing all of his focus on Alberto, his title reign and then his knee issues the only thing on Ricardo's mind throughout his own recovery.

The suspension hadn't been much different, obviously, Ricardo once more working through his own issues, ready with suggestions every time Del Rio had returned home, the Mexican aristocrat giving his ideas credence and time, aware of how brilliant the younger man could be in strategy, but it doesn't matter, AJ the wildcard in the match that none of them had thought to add in. He retains against Ziggler at Money in the Bank, and again the next night on Raw because of the girl's neediness, and then anger.

With that behind him, Alberto finds himself staring at a calendar, realizing that Ricardo's suspension period is slowly nearing its end. He's anxious to have his best friend back with him, but yet... he can't quite shake the memory of the look in the younger man's eye when the news had first broke, Ricardo looking frustrated and angry with himself, Alberto barely able to calm him down, even with Sofia's help, before he'd had to leave for that week's Smackdown, ensure that the right story would be given so as to diminish his friend's embarrassment as best as he could.

The overseas tour clears his mind, helps him to see what needs to be done. What, perhaps, should've been done long ago before Ricardo had become so fixated on Alberto's career, desperate to prove himself worthy to his best friend at his own detriment time and again. Alberto scrubs at his face as he prepares himself for the first Smackdown of August, staring at the ceiling as time ticks away too quickly. Ricardo would be back on Monday and this would be his best opportunity to set things into motion...

Just because he knows what has to happen doesn't make it any easier to say the words, kick his plan into gear. Even so, when he comes out to start the show, he has a map to Summerslam in his mind, a clear path to what will hopefully, somehow, begin to ease some of Ricardo's turmoil. He stands in the ring and announces his selection for his Summerslam opponent, Ricardo himself, and stares up at the titantron as his best friend's image lights up on the screen, making over-exaggerated gestures to the crowd to keep his true emotions from showing.

He'd have a couple of weeks to subtly prepare the younger man, to say goodbye, and then... dissolve their partnership in the most permanent way Del Rio could think of. Except that this too falls apart. Vickie Guerrero interjects, snaps at him for disrespecting her and the audience, even dares to call him immature. His anger reaches its boiling point as he stares down at her, trying to figure out how wanting to free his best friend from this life, this world, all of the pain that accompanies it, could possibly be immature.

But she doesn't understand, she could never even _guess_ his true intentions, to pay back all of Ricardo's sacrifices with one of his own, and so she forces a triple threat that Christian ultimately wins, Del Rio returning to his hotel later that night to pace. Think. Reconsider everything. He hates having to start again at the beginning, but it's the only thing he can think of. The only possibility that makes sense to him, especially now, time slipping through his fingers.

He keeps this all to himself, however, when he hears a knock at his locker room that Monday and opens it to find Ricardo waiting on the other side, face lit up with an almost hesitant grin as Alberto ushers him in. "Amigo, amigo," he says, warm and welcoming as the ring announcer rests his bag next to Del Rio's. "It's good to see you." And he means it. It is, no matter how much his head hurts when he thinks about what will happen in the next few hours when Ricardo's eyes meet his. "Welcome back."

"Gracias," Ricardo smiles, blinking in some surprise when Alberto leans forward and hugs him tightly, lips pursed desperately to hold in all that he wants to say, every little word that just sounds too much like _goodbye_. "El Patron..." he murmurs, squeezing him back. "I'm so glad this month is over."

"Me too, amigo," Del Rio says, slowly, reluctantly, pulling away from him. He hopes, perhaps, that that moment will bolster Ricardo through what will be coming, or at the very least not make it much worse for him. "Come, let's get something from catering."

Ricardo nods, adjusting his bowtie, before following his employer through the halls. When they run into a wandering Alex Riley, the two men grin at each other, following into a conversation about what they'd accomplished through the month, before the ring announcer remembers. "Oh, El Patron and I were heading to catering. Do you want to join us, Alex?"

Miz's former rookie glances over at Del Rio before shaking his head. "No, man, that's ok. I gotta go pick up Miz from the airport, since he's flying in from the overseas tour. He's gonna be ecstatic to see you."

Ricardo chuckles. "I look forward to seeing him as well." The three of them walk together for a bit longer, the catering along the same path as the exit, Alberto's eyes locked on Ricardo's face as he talks easily with the third man. Finally they go their own ways, Alberto resting a hand on Ricardo's shoulder as they walk into the large room for the first time in weeks, the ring announcer turning to look at him. Although he seems relieved to be back, Alberto can still see some of that badly hidden pain from the month that he'd been stuck in Florida, watching from the sidelines as the WWE world continued spinning without him, "Find a table that you like, El Patron, I'll get our food."

"Alright, amigo." He watches as Ricardo wanders off, sinking into a chair nearby. "How am I going to do this?"

But he manages it, somehow. After they eat, they run into Miz in the hallways, and he greets Ricardo enthusiastically, inviting them both to some beach party held during Summerslam week- Del Rio purposely doesn't respond throughout the invite, though Ricardo's eyes had brightened before the words had even fully left Mike's mouth- before going to get ready to commentate, ironically enough, during Del Rio's match against RVD that night, and they leave to prepare as well.

He only hopes that with Mike out there, Ricardo will not be completely alone in the end, able to get past this all the sooner, but he's not sure. Either way, when Ricardo tries to help, setting the bucket up in the corner, Del Rio tries to use it just for RVD to reverse it and send him into it, opening him up for a frog splash and a pin. Ricardo slips into the ring, tries to sooth Alberto, his touch lingering on his arm as their eyes lock and a flash of fear crosses the ring announcer's face. Alberto's face is horribly blank, and he stands grimly, Ricardo's pleads rattling around in his head as he kneels and begs, folding his hands as if in prayer...

But it's time, he's been preparing himself for this moment, and when he snaps out and kicks Ricardo in the skull, he closes his eyes and continues on, punching and hitting him with the bucket, allowing his body to take over instinctively as he throws him out of the ring. It's bad, it's all so wrong, but he knows... it's going to take something serious to snap the ring announcer's unwavering loyalty, make him focus on himself for once. He can feel Miz's eyes on him as he stands on the ramp and runs forward, planting his feet purposely on the steel steps that he can't remember placing his best friend behind, listening to the impact with a detached feeling of giddy horror.

He goes to collect his title, laughing almost to the point of madness, but it's the absolute last thing he feels deep inside. Trainers and referees are surrounding Ricardo as he backs up the ramp, and he can see his motionless form from here, swallowing down a wave of fright that perhaps he _had _taken it too far, that he'd permanently injured him. He's watching from backstage when Miz, and then Alex, join the group of people transferring the younger man backstage, and he sighs, forcing himself to walk back to his locker room. Ignoring how empty it all feels right now, he sits down on the nearest couch and runs his fingers through his hair.

His plan so far had worked, perhaps too well, and now, as adrenaline and everything else drains from him, leaving him feeling tired and old, he stares blurrily at Ricardo's things. He hadn't allowed the ring announcer to go back to the hotel, ordering him to come right to the arena as soon as he'd landed, so everything he'd traveled with is in this room. He's rubbing something back and forth in his hand when it clicks with him and he looks down, swallowing as he takes in the green, white and red fabric. _Ricardo's bowtie,_ he realizes, feeling like he'd been punched in the solar plexus. It had to have been in the bucket, that being Ricardo's general hold-all during matches, and how it'd ended up here, with him, he honestly doesn't remember...

Ordinarily he'd care about memory lapses like this, but he has other things to consider. Like Ricardo will need his things back, and since he's probably incapable of getting them, others will be coming to get them for him- Miz, Alex- and the last thing Del Rio wants or needs is another physical confrontation, barely able to think straight, much less fight his way out of anything, even if it's just Miz. He stares blankly at his title and lets it rest on the couch, standing slowly and walking away from it.

Knowing exactly where he _wants_ to be right now, he ventures out of his locker room and ambles towards the trainer's office, trying to look like his usual self, sneering or just ignoring those he passes by. He arrives sooner than he expects, staring at the door blocking his- his _former_ ring announcer- from view, the Mexican aristocrat licking his lips anxiously as he rests a hand on the barrier, wishing with everything in him that he could just slam inside and check on the younger man without risking all that he'd done to get them here. He's about to go elsewhere, give Miz time to do what needs to be done, when his eyes skirt aside and he realizes that there's an unmarked door directly across from the trainer's office.

Wheels turning slowly, he tries the doorknob, eyes widening when it opens easily, showing off a dark, quiet, empty room. "What do you know," he mumbles, slipping inside. It's a perfect vantage point to see across the hall as he pushes the door shut, leaving it open only a crack so he can hear what's going on. He's only been there a few minutes when the trainer's office door slams open, Mike's angry ranting- about him, unsurprisingly- echoes through the halls, Alex's pleads for him to wait following almost immediately.

Once things quiet down, Del Rio slips out of the room and stares down the hall, watching as they burn a path to his locker room. Smirking, he shakes his head. "Good luck, perros. I'm not in there." Swallowing, he sobers as he once more stares at the trainer's office. Pushing that door open, he stares inside to find the trainer wandering around Ricardo's cot, the ring announcer still motionless. Alberto closes his eyes for a moment before slipping into the room, raising a hand when the trainer looks like he's about to yell for help. "I'm not going to hurt him." He stares brokenly at his best friend, taking in the marks and bruises covering his face, and sighs. "May I just sit with him for a few moments?" Painfully aware that they won't have much time, Mike like a hyperactive tornado when he has a mission, he stares desperately at the trainer, who finally nods slowly, backing away with a frown on his face. "Gracias," Del Rio mumbles, well aware that, should he make one wrong move, the man would start yelling for help and Alberto would be facing another suspension or worse, like he had after attacking Big Show in his hotel room months ago.

Ignoring all of that, he sits down next to the ring announcer and stares at his slack features, face falling as he finally allows himself to _feel_ again for the first time in hours... days... weeks. "I'm so sorry, amigo," he breathes out, hesitantly reaching out and cupping his hand as he'd done many times in the past. "I don't expect you to understand this, but it needed to be done. You've been so tortured this past month, I couldn't stand it, and I'll be honest. I feel responsible. You've always been so focused on me, my needs, my desires... you never allowed yourself just to be, to concentrate on yourself. You've been injured so much on my account, and then the suspension... It hurt to watch you the past month, especially when I had to leave you behind to go on the overseas tour. You deserve a chance to find your own way, pave your own path in this business... but I couldn't think of a way to shatter your loyalty to me, to destroy your devotion, without... without..." He swallows and rests his forehead against Ricardo's hand, shaking his head.

"I had a plan, but that idiota General Manager, Vickie Guerrero, refused and tipped my hand, so I had to do it tonight, with little preparation or warning. I don't expect, nor would I want, you to understand this any time soon, but perhaps someday you will come to realize I really did have your best interests in mind." He looks up at his best friend and squeezes his hand. "You'll always be mi mejor amigo, and I know whatever you do from here on, you'll excel at. Because you do at everything, si?" He laughs painfully and releases a breath, tears prickling at his eyes. "I may hate him, but Miz will be the friend you need from here. At least he'd better." He stands, well aware of how quickly time is ticking away, before pressing a hand to the young man's forehead, careful to avoid the discoloration the steps and his boot had caused on his flesh. "I will be watching your successes proudly... as I've always been so very proud of you. You are stronger than most realize, it's time for you to show it, mi amigo." Another breath and he leans over, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, similar to the one he'd given him at the Royal Rumble when Ricardo had helped him win against Big Show, but so differently emotionally charged. This sign of affection isn't one of celebration or happiness, it is simply... goodbye.

After setting the bowtie carefully on the counter, he leaves the office without a backwards glance, returning to the darkened room to wait for Miz to return so he knows when it's safe to head back to his locker room, so he can get out of this building and this damned town already.

By the time he arrives home late Tuesday after some media events, Alberto feels worn ragged, physically and emotionally. It had hit him on the car ride home that, through all of his thinking, the one thing he hadn't truly taken the time to consider was Sofia's reaction to what he'd done. He swallows as he parks in front of the house, leaving the car for his staff to transfer to one of his garages, getting out slowly to find the housekeeper standing on the front porch, staring down at him vacantly. "Sofia," he greets her.

"Senor," she says simply, standing stiffly as he walks past her.

"You have seen Raw."

"Si."

He has no idea what to say next, she appears about as talkative, so he nods sharply and continues to walk through the foyer, to the hallway. His room on the right, what used to be Ricardo's on the left, he stops at his door and drops his suitcase inside the room before turning to stare at the closed door, swallowing faintly. Hand resting on the wood, he remembers all of the times he'd helped the younger man to bed after one of his injuries, or even when he'd just been too exhausted to walk on his own, and slowly pushes the door open, stepping inside. It's shadowy inside, the sun nearly set outside, but he can still see.

The room is empty. Furniture remains, yes, and minor electronics, such as the clock and lamps, but everything that had been _Ricardo_ is gone. Even the Zubaz is missing from the hangers in the closet. He swallows, amazed at the speed that Mike must have worked to manage all of this, walking further into the room and shutting the door tightly behind him to take it all in in private.

He swallows and sinks down on the bed, staring out of the window with the view that Ricardo had loved so much, spending many of his numerous recoveries sitting on the windowsill, watching the birds and animals fly and scamper around Del Rio's grounds, Alberto or Sofia often keeping him company during these times.

He laughs bitterly, barely mindful of the tears dripping down his face as he forces down a deep breath. The reality that he had forced into fruition mocks him, made only worse by the realization that, in order to ensure his plan's success, he would have to continue to keep the act up. Pretend that the man who'd so thoroughly beat down his best friend on Monday was the man that was always there, lurking beneath the surface, so that Ricardo's innate forgiveness, his limitless loyalty, would stay buried, so that he wouldn't volley for his job back upon his recovery.

For this reason alone, he is able to stare Vickie Guerrero in the eye on Friday Night Smackdown and dismiss Ricardo completely, barely blinking when she speaks of how despicable what he'd done to the ring announcer is, unable to shake the growing anger that it's partly _her_ fault, if he had just had some more time... As he leaves the office, he insults her in Spanish, far from caring when she snaps after him that she'd heard that. His loss to Christian that night leaves him sore and shaking with anger, storming through the halls to his locker room, where he all but collapses on the floor, title belt held close to his chest. He had almost lost it too, the only true thing he has left, what Ricardo had always worked so hard to try to ensure he'd one day hold. That perro Damien Sandow had nearly caught him at his weakest, and he didn't even have Ricardo to divert, distract, as he'd had during Ziggler's many attempts at cashing in.

He swallows and cradles the title closer, squeezing his eyes shut. "No, no," he mutters, rocking back and forth on the cold floor. "No, no, no..." Slumping back until his head hits the door, he shudders out a pained breath. "Lo siento, mi amigo, lo siento. I will make it without you, no matter how it hurts right now. You deserve this time to concentrate on yourself. I will not be weak, I will not be selfish. I will not take this opportunity from you. You have done so much for me... I will be ok." Pressing the title closer to his face, he groans. "I merely miss you, is all."


	2. Chapter 2

California. Alberto grimaces and stares out of the windshield of his rental car, lips twisted grimly. The weather may be beautiful, warm and sunny... nearly perfect, but it all looks dull, washed out, to him. Stepping foot in Ricardo's homestate, without the younger man by his side, talking excitedly about various places he'd been when younger, the things he'd done, feels more than wrong. He closes his eyes and slowly pulls himself out of the car, collecting his things before heading hesitantly towards the arena. He rarely has reason to give pause towards a situation but he's not sure what to expect. He'd planned last week out so carefully, here... now... he has no idea what's to come, and it worries him.

What if Miz is waiting for him? What if _Ricardo_ is waiting for him? What if...

He swallows and shakes his head, hoisting his bag higher up on his shoulder. _No point in stressing over all of this,_ he thinks. _No matter what happens, I'll deal. It'll be fine._ But when he enters, it's almost a let down- the halls are quiet, no one approaches him, nothing happens. He looks around, almost dazed at the inaction, and wanders over to the match board waiting for the various superstars to read their scheduled matches and segments. He skims through it, sneering when he sees that his match for the evening is against a freshly returned Kofi Kingston. A bit further down, he sees MizTV listed, fingers tensing against the strap of his title belt.

He has no idea where Ricardo's at currently, but he has a feeling Miz either knows, or is staying with him, and the need for _some_ update on his best friend burns through him, but he can't risk asking around should someone figure out that it's all an act, that he really does care... These thoughts are still fresh in his mind when the door opens and something causes him to turn around, coming face to face with Mike himself. Both men freeze, Alex staring over Miz's shoulder at him, and he swallows, trying not to show how much this all hurts.

He sneers, feels the old, familiar expression passing over his face. Like he wasn't lonely, wasn't desperate for some sort of word on his best friend... like everything was normal, hadn't been shattered to pieces when he'd made the hardest choice of his life. Mike looks _pissed_, close to snapping, and dammit, there's a hallway to his side, the hallway that Del Rio's locker room is down, and... He has no choice, bracing himself as he forces his way past the Most Must See Superstar, storming down the hall as quickly as he could, desperate to get away from him. As soon as he finds his door, marked by the World Heavyweight Champion plaque, he pushes it open and ducks inside, leaning against the wood while breathing heavily. "Ay dios mio," he groans, closing his eyes.

The look on Mike's face, the... the pained anger in his eyes, he could only imagine it'd be ten times as worse to look into Ricardo's right now. Especially after his tweets from the week prior about betrayal and... How Del Rio stays on his feet under the weight of these thoughts, he's unsure, but he finally stumbles over to the couch and slumps down, burying his fingers in his hair as he struggles to hold himself together. "Mi amigo," he sighs.

He stays there, listening to the show go on around him, until it's time for his match against Kofi. He keeps the act up, smirking and comfortable in his role as cocky champion until the bell rings, but the fight that Kofi gives against him leaves him floundering, well aware that, while he's worn down physically and emotionally, the other man is fresh and strong, having had months off to lose the road weariness that clings to the majority of them. Isn't haunted by his decisions and actions, isn't missing his best friend. His eyes instinctively roll to the corner that Ricardo usually inhabits, remembering sharply why the ring announcer isn't over there at this moment, cheering him on or hoping beyond hope that he'd get back to his feet. The pin attempt that follows shocks him but he manages to kick out at 2, eventually staggering to his feet and working through to a victory of his own, though the struggle that it had taken disgusts him.

He can only imagine what everyone is saying or thinking about him now, coming to a sudden stop when he finds Christian having an interview backstage. Still feeling the affects of his match, he stumbles forward and interrupts, insulting his opponent in Spanish. Forgoing the trainer's office, he goes right to his locker room, needing some time to himself to decompress after the last half an hour. He'd paid off production people a _long_ time ago to bring him videos of his matches as soon as he's done competing, and he smirks grimly to find the tape already waiting for him. He sticks it into the player and half-listens, only watching a bit of it now and again as he gets ready to leave, pulling a shirt on over his upper body when-

"By what I'm hearing, Ricardo Rodriguez is still not doing well physically," Jerry Lawler says on commentary, causing Del Rio to freeze, the shirt still tangled around his shoulders. He flails and fights his way out of the fabric, almost tearing it to shreds, as he gapes at the TV.

"Que? Que?" Mumbling to himself, he finds his phone and stares at it, the wallpaper on it still of him and Ricardo at a restaurant from months ago. "No..." Once more desperate to find out, his fingers hover over the #2 speed dial, his eyes flicking up at the screen. "Ricardo..." Imagining the younger man asleep somewhere, getting some much deserved rest, is the only thing that stills his hand, not wanting to disturb him, risking ruining everything he'd put into motion the week prior... He bites his lip, staring blankly at the clock. "What do I do, what do I do..." He's still sitting there when Mike disappears from the ring to allow the latest MizTV nonsense to play out without him, deciding now's his chance. He slips out of his locker room, turning back towards the main hallway where he'd run into Miz hours ago.

It's easy to spot the Awesome One, his voice loud enough to be overheard from a mile away. Del Rio had never necessarily been glad of that fact until this moment, watching as he joins Alex and they watch the aftermath of MizTV together, A-Ri shaking his head with disbelieving laughter as HHH and then Orton gets involved. Finally the segment concludes and Miz turns to Alex. "C'mon," he says clearly. "Let's get out of here, go check on Ricardo."

Alberto swallows at the pang in his chest that just hearing his best friend's name causes. _This means... Ricardo is nearby? He's... he's here? In this city?_ He waits a moment, watches as they enter the locker room, before ducking into his own to hurriedly collect his things. He's just returned to his vantage point at the corner where the two hallways meet, when Alex and Mike leave the main locker room, dragging their things to the exit. He counts to ten once they're gone before rushing out of the building too, needing to at least see for himself, try to get some idea of the truth behind Lawler's comments.

It's not hard to find them even in the dark, their rental the only one leaving the arena's parking lot at this point of the show, and he checks to see which way they're turning before he starts his car, keeping an eye on them from a distance so they don't realize they're being followed or by who. When they arrive at the hotel, he parks at a neighboring restaurant until they pull their things out of the car and enter the building, hurriedly getting out himself. Leaving his things in the vehicle, he dashes for the side exit and finds himself close to the elevator, abruptly worried that he might get caught, but one quick glance at the lobby shows that they're already gone, the elevator his best bet right now.

He's watching when it stops on floor 5, swallowing down nervousness, before pressing the button to bring the car back down to him. The wait seems to take forever, his only relief that no one is on the elevator to see him pacing back and forth spastically, but finally it stops once more at floor 5, and he staggers out, feeling ill and clammy as he realizes anew that this is the closest he's been to his best friend since saying goodbye to him the week prior, that so much could go wrong just by his proximity. Except that he has another problem, Mike and Alex long gone, leaving him no clue which room might be theirs, where Ricardo might be.

He swallows and closes his eyes, shaking his head. He'd known it was a long shot, even just getting a quick glimpse of the younger man, assure himself he's ok, but... he'd hoped. He's just about to turn around and walk back to the elevator when he hears, "Maybe we should wake him up, order some room service or something." He freezes all over again before looking a couple of doors ahead, realizing that light is pouring from one of the rooms into the hallway, its door open a few inches. Heart racing with renewed hope, he ventures forward and peeks inside, holding his breath until he spots Mike sitting next to a sleeping Ricardo on one of the beds, absently flicking channels on the TV across from them, its volume indiscernible.

But Del Rio only has eyes for his ring announcer, examining him as best as he can from here. He looks pale, eyebrows furrowed even in sleep, and it makes him feel even worse to stare at him, but... he can tell Miz and Alex are _trying_ which is much more than Alberto is capable of at the moment, so he closes his eyes and backs away slowly, almost to the elevator when he hears Alex ask, "Did you leave the door open, Mike?" Eyes widening, he's relieved when the elevator beeps open, quickly ducking into the car before he could be spotted, holding his breath as he inches forward and presses the button to take him back to the ground floor. When the doors close, he sinks against the back wall and groans, staring up at the ceiling. "It was good to see you, mi amigo," he murmurs. "I hope Lawler was exaggerating..."

Main Event, he competes against Cody Rhodes and scrapes together another victory, wondering what exactly Miz would have to say about him on commentary, but when he watches _that_ match back, he says very little, only mentioning Ricardo once. It surprises him, but he supposes that it's the only way Mike could try to keep his anger in check. He smirks to himself mirthlessly at the thought of the outspoken superstar even _trying_ to keep himself under control. "Stranger things have happened, I suppose," he muses.

He's once more alone in his hotel room, staring at the ceiling and taking in the silence. Despite the month he'd been away from Ricardo during the damnable suspension, he's not used to the utter loneliness and grim solemnity of every hotel room he resides in now. Even during that month, they would talk on the phone or exchange texts at all hours, Alberto needing to know his best friend was hanging in there, but he has no such option tonight. Sighing tiredly, he rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face in the thin hotel pillows, grimacing. He wonders if perhaps the beach party that Miz had invited them to is soon, doubting that it'd happened already if Ricardo's health was still as poor as Lawler had mentioned. He can't imagine it happening this weekend, with Axxess and everything else going on, so he imagines it perhaps will either happen next week _or_ tomorrow... He closes his eyes, wishing he could have accepted the invite, spent one more relaxing evening on a beach with his best friend, but...

There's no going back. His sleep that night is uncomfortable, his dreams scattered and hard to decipher.

Friday, he gets a reprieve, no matches booked for him that evening, Vickie not even agreeing to see him as she's busy in meetings with Vince McMahon and HHH most of the night, but Christian wrestles against Damien Sandow, his Summerslam opponent and the man with the briefcase for his very title belt. He watches from his locker room, holding on tightly to the strap, trying to breathe. Not only was Ricardo a great worker and an even better friend, he had quick reflexes and had been very valuable when Ziggler had tried to cash in, so now Del Rio has to keep an eye on everything all on his own, especially after how close it all had come the week prior.

The action in the ring matters little to him so he makes his way to his feet after a few minutes and walks to the titantron, watching through the curtain as the two men wrestle their way to a conclusion, Christian standing in success after a spear that takes Sandow down. Del Rio grimaces at his opponent having any kind of momentum leading into Summerslam and runs in, crashing it as he tries to tangle Christian up in the armbar. But the Canadian wiggles free and hits him with the Unprettier, leaving him laying on the mat, dazed and breathless as he stares up at the lights.

A stubborn part of him is waiting for his best friend to scramble into the ring, desperately asking if he's ok and trying to help him up, but that will never happen again, proven once more to him when it's a referee who lifts his arm, trying to drag him to his feet. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, remembering the flash of horror in Ricardo's eyes when he'd tried to assist him after the loss to RVD ten days ago, it quickly dawning on him that Del Rio didn't want his help, or to even occupy the same ring as he.

Not for the first time, Alberto wonders if he could've handled it all differently- if he could've terminated Ricardo's loyalty to him without completely destroying their friendship... but he, with all of his cunning and quick thinking, just cannot think of a way, even now, after days of pondering it. He stares at his feet as the referee helps him up the ramp, barely clinging to his title belt with the desperation of someone needing something, anything, to hold onto lest they drift away completely.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday had been stressful enough but the next night makes it all much, much worse. Alberto Del Rio is attempting to relax in a bar, watching UFC and trying not to only dwell on how much he's missing the constant presence of Ricardo by his side, remembering all of the events they'd watched together over the years, usually having friendly wagers over who would win or lose the numerous contests. It's not the same but he's trying to keep up the pretense by being his usual self, acting up his investment in each match, when he feels eyes on the back of his neck. Not a foreign sensation, considering; he still finds himself looking around, but doesn't see anything out of the ordinary so he turns his attention back to the large screens.

Between matches, he gets tired of sitting there so, standing, he heads for the bathrooms on the other side of the bar to splash some water on his face when he accidentally bumps into someone near a pool table, turning as they apologize to him. As soon as their eyes lock, however, he realizes with a shock that it's The Miz he's just stumbled into, the shorter man quickly rescinding his apology with an angry sneer. Alberto glares down at him, this the last thing he needs tonight. "Do you have a problem, Miz?" he asks, barely focusing on what he's saying- insulting the game they're visibly about to start- as he glances around, curious about where Ricardo is now, if he's here too...

Unfortunately, Mike notices this and steps into his line of sight. "Looking for someone? Maybe Ricardo? You think I'd put him within your reach ever again, so you can finish what you started two weeks ago?" His laughter adds to Del Rio's turmoil after this and the Mexican aristocrat snarls, trying to hold his temper in as he reminds himself that Mike had been there for the ring announcer without fail since he'd made his decision almost two weeks earlier, finally stepping up and being the friend to the younger man that he can't be any longer.

But when Mike starts talking about Ricardo being too good of a friend for him, Alberto snaps back about _Mike's_ own track record, remembering how hurt Ricardo had been upon the fallout of the commentary nonsense for Main Event while he pointedly looks over at Riley and Morrison, who are watching their argument on the other side of the table, tense and waiting in case Mike should need their assistance.

"He forgave me for what I did because I _never_ EVER threw away everything he did for me by trying to kick his head off of his shoulders!" Mike responds heatedly, eyes flashing before he glances around and shakes his head, pushing past Del Rio towards the exit.

Alberto looks around as well, noticing how people surrounding them are watching, squinting warningly at them. "Mind your own business, peasants," he snaps before following the Most Must See Superstar outside, slamming the door open and pushing him. "You don't know what you're talking about, perro!"

Mike stumbles but regains his balance, turning back to Del Rio and demanding an explanation from him, but Alberto is so angry, he can't think straight, much less figure out what to say that wouldn't risk everything he'd put into motion regarding Ricardo. "I thought so," he mutters, trying once more to leave, but something, red hot anger, comes over Alberto: He lunges out and grabs him by the arm, spinning him around again.

This proves to be a mistake as Mike swings out instinctively in response, landing a solid punch to the side of Del Rio's face, staggering him and sending him into the bar's brick wall, where he slides down, the rough surface scraping against his skin unforgivingly. He slumps there for long, speechless moments, touching his face carefully while staring up at Miz in shock, his whole face throbbing. This wakes him up from the fog of anger, remembering sharply that for once he _doesn't _want to fight Mike, especially when he's probably the main thing holding Ricardo together right now. Besides he notes then that others have come out to watch, and as Mike gasps for breath over his prone body, his eyes dark and troubled, the members of 3MB get between them, separating them long enough for John and Alex to get ahold of Mike and drag him away from the bar.

"You alright?" Heath asks Del Rio, who's still barely focused on anything outside of the swelling he can feel already growing along his eye and cheek, breathing deeply as he tries to contain his rage while watching Miz and his friends stumble away. "What the hell was his deal anyway?"

Grunting, he forces himself back up to his feet after a few more moments and looks dispassionately at the three men, relieved to see that the rest of the crowd had returned inside, growing bored once the fight had ended about as quickly as it'd begun. He replays the past ten minutes in his head and sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. He nor Mike have the best control of their tempers, and Ricardo had always been the one to pay in the past. _Not this time,_ he thinks, taking a breath. "I'm fine. And I'm going to make you three a deal," he grits out, finding that even talking that little amount hurts, his whole face feeling raw.

"What kinda deal?" Heath asks, immediately intrigued as dollar signs float in front of his eyes.

"I'll pay for... for recording sessions at a local studio for you three if you do something in return," he says, struggling still to focus his vision as 3MB discusses his offer.

"What do you want us to do?" Jinder speaks up, glancing over at his other bandmates with a smirk as they clap him on the back, in agreement that they want this.

"Want you each to spread stories of what happened here tonight to explain this," he spits out, vaguely waving a hand at his own face, aware that it's going to look pretty rough in the morning, if it doesn't already. "Whatever details you feel the need to tell, just make it believable. And keep Miz's name out of it. Comprehende?" The three men all look confused but nod readily as soon as they see the green of his money, Del Rio leaving individual stacks of it in each man's outstretched hands. Mumbling in Spanish, he staggers to the parking lot and locates his car, sitting behind the steering wheel and breathing deeply until he feels more stable, his eyes not crossing any longer. He has no love lost for Miz, far from it, but the last thing Ricardo needs is to lose another key piece of support in the business because of something so stupid.

So he keeps his head down, barely discusses what happened or the various stories that 3MB pass around, and sneers through the lingering pain when commentary at Summerslam claims he received his black eye from the Unprettier Christian had hit on him the Friday prior. He smirks further when he notices the Mexican flags he'd demanded be put on all four corners for his matches from here on or else, mostly just to distract the nosy tech backstage who had tried to ask him which of the stories about what had happened to him were true. He ultimately retains his title belt, defeating Christian, and even though he'd received a broken nose on top of everything else, he can't help but feel relief. Addressing the crowd, he goes on about what a good night it is, that he is still champion, their hero. The Latino community's hero... and yes, he had tried, since before Swagger, to be a good champion, despite everyone cheering for Ziggler and even Swagger, at times, no matter every malicious thing the xenophobe had done to Ricardo and Del Rio around Wrestlemania. The crowd doesn't seem to really take to it, but he shrugs it off, returning backstage. _They'll see in time,_ he thinks determinedly, clinging to the title as tightly as he can.

He's on his way to his personal locker room when he looks up from the hallway floor for the first time all night, wrestling boots skidding against the tiles as he realizes, stares at the room next to his. It's marked with a simple name plate that says _Summerslam Host_, Del Rio wincing as he approaches the door, swallowing thickly. He knows Ricardo had been in the building, aware of the man's Axxess schedule, and he wonders if he's inside with Miz or Alex... if he'd even bothered watching his match, listening to his promo, or... He closes his eyes and rests his sweaty hand against the wood, his eyebrows furrowing sadly as he wishes things could be simple again, so he could just run inside and talk to the man, be comforted by him as he had so many times in the past.

"Ay," he grunts, sadly aware that it's impossible as he pries himself away and disappears into his own locker room, shaking his head.

His face is nothing but throbbing pain the next morning, his eye blood red probably from a burst blood vessel and he grunts, staring at himself in the mirror. "Gracias, Miz," he grumbles, trying to make himself look as presentable as possible. _Well, no one would be able to deny I'm a fighting champion,_ he decides with glum pride while collecting his things to head to the arena.

When he arrives, he's relieved to see his match for the evening is against Sin Cara, barely blinking at the lack of a challenge that particular man provides him. That is, until he dives out of the ring onto Del Rio within the first minute of their match, clonking their heads together and only adding to Alberto's growing frustration and pain. He all but explodes when the match is stopped almost immediately after Sin Cara calls for the referee, the trainer coming to check on him. Rolling back into the ring after them, Alberto kicks his opponent violently, barely minding as the referee pushes him bodily away, screaming at him.

_I can compete with my face looking like this, but he can't even work through a broken finger? Patetico! _he thinks, chest heaving with annoyance until finally Sin Cara's dragged out of the ring. Del Rio immediately motions for a mic, once more telling the crowd how he's their hero, about to speak further when something interrupts his thought process- a familiar voice, his breath seizing in his chest as he looks up the ramp, finding Ricardo standing there for the first time in two weeks exactly. It's the first time he's seen his best friend since that slight glimpse outside of the hotel room the week prior, and he can't understand what the younger man is saying for a moment.

Until it clicks, Alberto unable to do anything but watch on, his face dark and sad as Ricardo explains that Del Rio is no hero to him, nor to the Latino community. That he is happy to not represent Del Rio any longer, that he has found someone else to stand alongside, someone who will truly stand for people. When Rob Van Dam's music hits, Alberto can't comprehend it even as the highflyer comes out and smirks down the ramp at him, heading down towards the ring to confront him. He can barely take his eyes off of Ricardo, the smile on the man's face that he hadn't seen there in a very, very long time, but he's forced to when RVD rolls into the ring, Alberto meeting him with punches and knees, trying to keep him down. However his lingering shock works against him, Van Dam quickly regaining control and spinkicking him in the skull, Del Rio floundering as he hits the mat and hurriedly leaves the ring, unable to do anything but watch from the ramp as Ricardo joins his new associate and the two of them stare down at him from the ropes, taunting him with the thumb motions in concert.

Alberto staggers up the ramp, hugging the title close to his chest as he tries to get away from the vision of his best friend working alongside one of the many targets on his back- the very man he'd lost against the night he'd attacked Ricardo so viciously, tears prickling at his eyes, only adding to his pain as the salty liquid irritates his injuries.

The rest of the night is a blur, Del Rio going through the motions as if underwater, barely registering anything around him. He swallows hard when he sits down in the rental car driver's seat a little over an hour later, glancing over at the empty seat where Ricardo would ordinarily sit. Wonders if this means he'll be traveling with RVD, splitting hotel rooms with him, perhaps even moving back to LA to be close to his new client. As hard as the past few weeks had been, the very thought of Florida as a whole without even the knowledge that the younger man is nearby hurts worse than most everything else he'd had to do alone since he'd left him behind in the trainer's office. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he breathes out, clenching his hands around the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white. "Por que... Ricardo... I just wanted to... to... free you. I didn't mean for you to hate me so thoroughly... Though I suppose I don't blame you."

He shudders and slowly pulls out of the parking lot, driving towards his hotel room, his emotional pain making the physical seem like nothing.

After keeping to himself as much as media events will allow, he slips into the Smackdown arena that Friday, once more keeping his head down as he ventures to his locker room. He remembers this place well, it being the very arena he had debuted in three years ago with Ricardo by his side. It had only clicked with him when he'd begun to drive here after Raw that it had been _this_ city, this date, somehow making this whole week feel ten times worse. His face is slow to heal, the black eyes still dark and ugly, but much worse than that, the last thing he wants is to run into Ricardo and/or RVD right now, here, only just noticing the rematch against Christian listed on the board near the gorilla. He gingerly touches his nose, remembering how badly that match had exacerbated his injuries, not looking forward to seeing what the rematch will do.

Thankfully, it's not _as_ grueling as the Summerslam match had been, though it's not as short as the match against Sin Cara, despite his intentions. He even forgets about his face for a bit, desperate to put Christian away, headbutting his opponent repeatedly and dazing himself. When another pinfall attempt gets him nowhere, he strikes out and slaps the Mexican flags he'd demanded to have off of the ringpost on one side, glaring down at the scattered remnants on the floor in some annoyance. Applying the armbar from the turnbuckle, he struggles on until Christian finally taps, relieved to leave the man sprawled lifelessly on the mat as he once more addresses the WWE Universe, going on in some spiel about how they're peasants, should follow him, barely paying any mind to his own words as his face throbs anew with each utterance, eyes watering from the pain and unceasing bright lights overhead.

He's almost done, about ready to leave the ring, holding his title up in success, when he hears again- familiarity, the voice of his ring announcer mockingly saying his name. He looks up and over, watching as Ricardo walks out onto the ramp, telling him to stop, that he nor these people would be following him. Nor would this man, who, he makes sure to add, doesn't look down on people... Alberto swallows, unable to look away from the grim look in Ricardo's eyes at these words, only distracted when RVD comes out, the two men walking together towards the ring. He's about to turn, get out of there, when he's met by a dropkick from a lurking Christian, who then trades places in the ring with Van Dam.

Del Rio is prone, holding his face, as RVD appears over him, disappearing for only a moment before landing on top of him in a brutal rolling thunder where most of his weight lands on Alberto's arm, the world champion quickly escaping the ring and flopping onto the ramp, unable to do anything but watch as his best friend collects his title from where he'd dropped it in the melee. He can do nothing as the two men mock him from the ring, Ricardo and RVD holding onto his title as he struggles to his feet, still watching in disbelief as Ricardo urges him to come take his belt back, Alberto's strength leaving him as he once more drops to his knees on the ramp, eyebrows furrowed while he grips his throbbing arm.

He rages backstage, kicking everything in sight until the referee from his match against Christian approaches him, looking hesitant. "Eh, Del Rio?" When the champion spins around, face bruised and wet, a conflicting combination of anger and sadness in his dark eyes, he flinches away but holds out the gold belt that had been Alberto's dream since he'd first been signed to WWE, swallowing as the man braces himself to keep from losing it on the referee, reaching out for it. "Ricardo Rodriguez asked me to give it to you." Alberto stares at him, thinking perhaps his friend had begun to regret his actions, when the referee continues to talk. "He, uh, also asked me to give you a message... that RVD will be wearing that belt soon, once he beats you at Night of Champions."

Alberto's hope dwindling, he merely stares down at the referee until he scampers away, leaving the champion with his belt and heavy thoughts, feeling nothing but agony as he trudges back to his locker room, wanting just to leave this place, his thoughts and feelings, and the memories here behind. Alas, it isn't to be.

_He's once more outside of that bar, the whole place looking strange and unlike how it had that night that Miz had laid him out, leaving him laying against the bricks, but he can just tell that's where he's at, though he can't see some of it fully, as if in a fog. But it's clear when something presses against his throat, leaving him struggling to free himself, his breathing hindered as someone leans over him, digging their knee against his wind pipe viciously._

_He scrabbles, clawing at the person's pants, when it clicks with him, the rough feel of dress pants- _Ricardo's_ dress pants, suddenly able to see the ring announcer clearly as he stares into Alberto's eyes, an unusually evil sneer on his young face. "El Patron," he mocks. "Is there something wrong? Do you miss me?"_

_He can't answer, unable to do anything but stare as Ricardo peers down at him, eyes cast in shadows. He sees no kindness anywhere._

_"I don't miss you," the ring announcer spits out. "Who could ever miss a spiteful, unlikeable person such as you?" His knee disappears, hands replacing it as he leans in closer to his former employer. "Miz was right, you are a horrible friend. You deserve to be left with nothing." Pushing him until he slumps against the side of the building bonelessly, he turns without a backwards glance and lifts something from the ground, walking away from Del Rio as he stares on helplessly from the ground, unable to do anything while Ricardo walks further and further away._

_"No," he moans, blinking- just for RVD to appear, Ricardo stopping in front of him and handing the item in his hands over, Alberto realizing with a shock that it's his title, Ricardo lifting the highflyer's hand in victory as somehow Del Rio can see the nameplate perfectly even from this distance, the three words gracing it now reading Rob Van Dam._

_"NO!"_ he yells out, thrashing harder and waking up on a strangled gasp, fighting out of the sheets and sitting up wildly, staring into the darkness as he struggles to catch his breath, scrambling at his throat until he realizes- he's in bed, not outside some bar and he hadn't seen Ricardo since leaving the arena earlier. Still, he feels desperately unsettled and he flicks a lamp on, relieved when its light immediately reflects off of the title belt on the bedside table, Del Rio sinking back against his pillows as he cradles his face in trembling hands, remembering the look on his former ring announcer's face, the words he had spat in the dream that Del Rio can't deny. "What have I done?" he murmurs, shaking.


	4. Chapter 4

By Monday, Alberto's face feels mostly better, though he can still see some discoloration if he looks closely enough at himself in the mirror. Sighing tiredly, he stares at the match board for Raw and winces, turning away sharply and marching back to his locker room, needing some time to himself to prepare mentally and physically before his match against RVD... which means not only having to see Ricardo in RVD's corner for the first time, but actually _against _him, cheering on his opponent and...

He groans, closing his eyes as he tapes his wrists up automatically, biting his lips. "I can get through this, it's nothing," he mutters. "Van Dam is nothing..." He's on his way to gorilla to make his entrance when he stops short, coming across RVD and Ricardo in the midst of an interview, Ricardo talking about how he's teaching RVD _Espanol_. He sneers at the prospect as RVD speaks some of their language, stopping short when he hears Rob say that Ricardo is his hermano, seeing red for a moment. Biting down the impulse to storm over there and beat his opponent down right then and there, he takes a few steadying breaths and continues walking, swallowing down his anger as best as he can, teeth gritting.

As if that's not bad enough, he overlooks just how much hearing Ricardo being announced as RVD's personal ring announcer for the first time would hurt, standing a ways from gorilla as Justin Roberts says just that, his whole body freezing as his best friend goes out and begins to announce RVD, Del Rio's face twisted bitterly when the other man walks through next, the two of them making their way to the ring as Alberto watches the nearest monitor in disgust.

He makes his entrance last, all focus drawn away from him when Ricardo peels off the dress jacket that he'd worn for years as Del Rio's announcer, slinging it thoughtlessly to the mat below to show off the RVD shirt he's wearing, a grin on his face as he points at it, then turns and shows off the back of the shirt to Alberto as well. Trying to ignore the buzzing in his ears at this sight, he continues on to the ring and looks over as Ricardo slips out to the floor and the match begins. It goes back and forth a minute or two, Del Rio grimacing as Ricardo seems to take glee in mocking him with RVD's ridiculous thumb motions after he'd fallen out of the ring and landed heavily by the commentary table, Rob standing overhead on the turnbuckle, doing the same.

Alberto's finally slipping into the zone, however, close to locking in the armbar, when he sees a flash of red in his peripheral vision, looking over to find Ricardo standing on the commentary table. The unsturdy commentary table that seems like it could topple over at an angry look on any given day, the younger man balancing precariously on it while he stubbornly continues doing the thumb motions for RVD, staring right at him. Alberto forgets all about RVD, fear seizing him as he stumbles over to the ropes, gaping down at him. "Bajar ahora!" he yells at him, watching closely for a moment or two longer, worried what might happen if the table gave, and he fell. Especially with his history of ankle and neck injuries...

When he ignores him, still motioning to himself wildly, Alberto swallows and turns, determined to finish this before Ricardo thinks of something else risky to do in an attempt to assist RVD, but when he attempts the armbar anyway, RVD is ready and snags him up with his legs, twisting him into a pin that Alberto can't get out of, staring out of the ring upside down even as he struggles to get free while the ring announcer leaps off of the table, watching closely as the three count is achieved and Van Dam wins. He scrambles, struggling against the referee but unable to do anything but gape as his best friend runs up the ramp, grinning alongside his opponent as they celebrate the victory. "No, no, no," he breathes, clinging to his title. "Por favor, _no..._"

Ricardo is already with his current enemy, should the title be taken from him too... He winces and rocks against the second rope as the two men continue up the ramp, all grins from the victory. Alberto's still holding onto the gold belt, his nightmare from after Smackdown almost coming true before his very eyes. Finally recollecting himself, he storms through the halls back to his locker room, slamming the door behind him so strongly that it rattles in the frame. "He is not _your_ hermano!" he screams at the walls, tossing a table over and scattering the few things atop it in his anger. "This will _not_ be your title!"

Sliding to his knees on the cool, hard floor, he groans and shakes his head, remembering the look in Ricardo's eyes when he'd first called him hermano on TV back in January. _It took me two and a half years,_ he thinks, viciously hating himself yet again for overlooking the ring announcer for as long as he had. _This perro, this peasant dares to lay claim to such a title for him within a week? _He closes his eyes. "Mine... they're mine... no matter what," he whispers, pressing the title to his chest.

He's still kneeling like that when there's a sharp knock at his door and he looks up, glowering at it for a minute, daring it to be a camera crew wanting an interview. "Who is it?!" he snaps, growing only more annoyed when no one responds, surging to his feet and storming over to the door. "Who-?" He comes to a stop, snarling down at the tech who's looking back up at him, uncomfortable. "What is it?"

"HHH has requested every superstar be on the stage for Daniel Bryan vs The Shield. That includes you, er, uh, sir," the young man says, growing more and more anxious under the weight of Del Rio's glare. Without waiting for an answer, he rushes off to continue spreading the message to those who might've missed it or attempted to ignore the edict.

Del Rio snarls and stares down at his title for a moment before leaving his locker room, slamming the door behind him forcefully. He is uncaring who's watching, ranting to himself in Spanish as he makes his way through the halls. He doesn't care at all about this whole Bryan nonsense, nor HHH's power plays, but he'd also rather stay under the radar, not risk being stripped of the title or worse, when he's so focused on what's happening with Ricardo and RVD. He slows abruptly when he comes upon the group of superstars waiting to go out for the main event, finding Miz, Riley, RVD and his former ring announcer standing together near the curtain, his lips thinning as he looks at them.

RVD notices him a second later, however, and pulls Ricardo back, standing protectively in front of him so, between he and Miz and everyone else scattered around, Del Rio can barely catch a glimpse of his friend, much less anything else. He snarls and rushes past, glaring at both Rob and Miz viciously before walking out to the ramp since he doesn't want to wait any longer. As Renee Young wanders around, trying to interview the various superstars HHH had selected, Del Rio finds his gaze shifting over to the other side of the ramp, where Ricardo and RVD are standing side by side, overwhelming anxiety on the ring announcer's face visible as Mike starts to talk, just to cut himself off without really saying anything of importance.

Despite his anger, somewhere deep inside, Del Rio is relieved himself that common sense somehow had prevailed for the loudmouthed superstar, the look on Ricardo's face all the proof he needs that, should Miz get himself fired, it'd only add to the younger man's problems. He sighs when the rest of the segment goes according to HHH's visible plans, Daniel left laying after none of the superstars come to his aid.

He for whatever reason has no match scheduled for Smackdown that week, which is something of a relief to him. He feels disgusted by everything: the Mexican flags he'd requested on the ring posts, his own gear, his futile attempts to get the crowd to accept him, nothing feels right anymore. He would ordinarily leave but RVD has a match, which means Ricardo will be present, so he swallows down his misgivings and stays, venturing out to the gorilla position after Ricardo announces his Night of Champions opponent- putting his own spin on saying the man's name in a way that only adds to Alberto's bitterness. He watches from the curtain as the two men walk to the ring, Ricardo all grins as he motions again to his shirt, saying something to the other man about it.

Del Rio takes a deep breath, lips twitching as Damien Sandow makes his way to the ring. Alberto, deep in thought throughout the relatively short match, ponders over the past few weeks, aware that his plans are slipping through his fingers. Ricardo working for RVD against him had been the last thing he'd expected, though he wasn't entirely sure where exactly the younger man would go after that horrible Monday three weeks ago. He feels like his control over the situation is failing, thanks to first Miz confronting him at the bar, and then the whole RVD situation, Ricardo guiding the man into the number one contendership. Despite how good of an actor he can be, he's aware of how he'd been failing the past couple of weeks, showing more true emotions than he cared to whenever Ricardo had confronted him alongside RVD. Much more of that and the truth could come out... he'd already slipped once in an interview and called the ring announcer his friend, during Summerslam week... _ I have to get this back on track_, he thinks grimly as the match ends, RVD the victor. "Forgive me."

He makes his way on stage, smirking as he breaks up their little celebration in the ring, all joy quickly fading from Ricardo's face as RVD turns back to the younger man, arms raised in disbelief at the interruption. He's as dismissive, insulting, as he possibly can be, not even saying Ricardo's name, instead labeling him as "that thing" and a traitor, claiming that he'd turned his back on their people, the Latino people, watching as the ring announcer grows angry instead of sad, yelling at him from the apron. _Right, get angry, Ricardo,_ he thinks, eyes gleaming darkly as he says something about dogs and fleas, only half-focused on what he's saying now. _This was intended to help you become stronger, not break you. _He alternates between insulting and mocking them in Spanish and English before finally running out of things to say and simply smirking from the top of the ramp, holding his title proudly, before leaving the two annoyed men behind.

Still unable to leave the arena for whatever reason, he allows himself to wander for awhile, his title back in his locker room, the key to which is safely in his slacks pocket. He stops short upon turning a corner, finding RVD doing his ridiculous split stretches between two chairs, eyes closed as if he's meditating. Ducking back behind the wall, he peeks down the hallway once more, swallowing when he spots Ricardo sitting calmly on a trunk a few feet away, that horrible red shirt still adorning his upperbody.

WWE film crew spots him at about the same time, asking for a quick word for Tout. Ricardo agrees easily and Del Rio listens, his chest aching, as the younger man starts off by saying simply that he had never left Alberto, Alberto had left him. He closes his eyes as Ricardo continues on, saying that he'd then decided to surround himself with _good_ people, Del Rio looking up in time to see him motion over to the still meditating RVD, a smile on his face.

Forgetting why he'd originally come this way to begin with, Alberto stumbles back towards his locker room and unlocks it with a shaking hand, letting himself inside. He drops onto his couch and scoops up the title belt, resting his head against the leather back of the furniture. "Ay," he groans, Ricardo's words echoing in his head. "It had to be done... it had to be..." He swallows. "Correcto...?"


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: EuM is going on a brief hiatus after this chapter because I'm going to be spending some time with my best friend, and I won't be watching WWE while I do so. As soon as I get caught back up on it, I'll write and post BtB 166 and EuM 6 and 7, presumably at some point around the beginning of the week of the 23rd. Thanks for your patience and hope this chapter holds you all over until then!

Del Rio had tried to be good. Just. A fair champion. For awhile, anyway. But the people still had disliked him, cheering on the likes of Dolph Ziggler and even Jack Swagger over him, with their We The People disrespect, and a multitude of other things that had ate at him, until finally he opted to turn his back on them as they had to him. Which was fine, he'd always been fine with limited support, only ever truly needing Ricardo by his side to bolster his attempts in the business.

Except that it was clear that couldn't last forever, especially when the ring announcer had been suspended. So he had freed him as soon as he'd returned to announcing, to break the misery that he'd visibly been in that month, help him to find a new path. A new way. And although he hadn't been surprised by the words coming from Ricardo afterwards, knowing that some of them are probably even deserved, it had still hurt worse than anything Del Rio had ever endured to hear Ricardo's interview the week prior, that he was looking for _good_ people to surround himself with.

So he's not sure why, at Raw, he ultimately compounds the misery he's been through during the weekend, spent dwelling on those words unceasingly, when RVD is out, wrestling Sandow in a rematch from Smackdown. His feet lead him out to the ramp instead of just allowing him to stay backstage and observe from a monitor, however, watching as Ricardo and RVD both look out at him, the ring announcer appearing annoyed and yelling towards him for a few moments, his words barely indecipherable over the crowd and Alberto's entrance music, just to quickly turn his attention back to the action in the ring. He doesn't look back at his former employer the whole time, Alberto swallowing as the match continues on like he's not even there, as if he's meaningless. He closes his eyes and winces, forcing himself to resume watching as Ricardo and the crowd continue to support his rival for the title resting against his shoulder.

He paces the ramp a time or two, smirking when Ricardo has to make a visibly concentrated effort not to look over at him when he nears the ring, but it all falls apart when RVD wins again, and he grits his teeth as the younger man enters the ring to celebrate Rob's win, clapping for him and dusting his hands off as if to say how easy it is for his new employer when he turns to look at Del Rio, the two men smirking out at the Mexican aristocrat as they continue to enjoy the moment, reminding Del Rio of the times that Ricardo had been by his side like this for _his_ victories. He grunts and shakes his head before returning backstage, unable to stand much more of this.

He's about to leave the arena, exhausted despite doing very little and completely over this evening, when Brad Maddox stops him. "HHH has requested you to be out on the ramp with the rest for Daniel Bryan vs Big Show," he says, eyes wide when Del Rio snaps viciously at him in Spanish, pushing past him to storm back to his locker room. Dropping his bag on the floor once more in disgust, he turns back around and slams down the halls back to the gorilla position to wait for their cue to go out, nearly biting through his lip in frustration as once more the area fills with the other superstars and divas, the noise level growing more and more annoying while time ticks by slowly. He closes his eyes and hisses until finally Maddox motions them out, Del Rio finding that once more he's near the front, Miz right across from him, but he doesn't see Ricardo as easily this time, the man lost in the sea of superstars on the other side of the ramp.

He sighs and lets his mind wander, still far from caring about this Daniel Bryan situation. After all, in less than two weeks, he'll be defending his World title against RVD, with Ricardo doing what he can to keep him from walking out champion, as he had during the #1 contendership match a couple of weeks ago. It'll be the first pay per view where they face off against each other, leaving him on edge and antsy. He sighs and closes his eyes, dreading that moment, having to fight while keeping his attention off of his former ring announcer and try to focus on regaining his title. "Ay," he grouses to himself, holding the belt close to his face as he checks the ring out, watching as The Shield beat Bryan down, HHH trying to get Big Show to KO punch the man. Finally the show ends and they're allowed to filter backstage, prepare to leave.

Del Rio makes his way haphazardly through the crowd, not minding who he knocks out of his way just to get through, finally reaching some free space, breathing in relief before he turns to look back for a moment, breath seizing in his chest as he locks eyes with Ricardo, startled. They stare at each other, the ring announcer still looking a conflicted mix of sad, angry and determined, Del Rio releasing a soft breath before he turns away sharply and continues on his way, relieved to _now_ be able to put this evening behind him, get a few days to relax before he has to turn his focus to Smackdown.

His house hasn't felt the same, a deep, dark void within its many walls, since that week after Miz and Riley had taken everything of Ricardo's away, leaving him with an empty room directly across from his own that he thinks in any other situation would be acceptable as a guest room for when his brother or anyone else comes to visit, but it just feels wrong to even consider touching it. So he hasn't looked at it since that night he had come home after firing the ring announcer, unaware if Sofia has even found the strength to go inside to clean it.

Things with the housekeeper also haven't been the same, though he hasn't seen her a lot, so busy with all of the media events in California leading up to Summerslam and then the various events since. She'd missed out on the worst of the aftermath of the bar fight with Miz, unsure of the whole story with that, and he's a bit relieved for that much. As if getting laid out with one punch wasn't bad enough, that it was on account of the Miz, and that he had to be rescued by 3MB, eats at him. The only comfort he gains from it was that it had been proof how far Mike would go to protect Ricardo if needed, easing some of the uncertainty he'd had with leaving Ricardo's only friend being the very man who'd mocked him cruelly on the commentary desk only a couple of months ago.

As the last of his responsibilities are dealt with- making sure the bills are saw to, errands are run, his cars are being maintained properly and all other various things it takes to keep his house running properly, things that Ricardo used to handle with ease but of which he now struggles to slough through alone- he sighs wearily and sinks into a hammock set up between two trees not far from the pond, carefully rocking back and forth with his eyes closed as he breathes heavily, too lost in thought to even relax, much less doze off into the nap he'd hoped to have under the warmth of the Floridian sun. His thoughts have finally begun to fade away, quiet, when something new strikes him and he sits up, almost overbalancing and falling out of the other side of the hammock.

Grabbing for his phone once he's settled again, that weightless horror of gravity trying to take him over fading away as his heart regains its regular rhythm, he holds it up and presses a button, swallowing hard when it shows him the date. _September 5th,_ he realizes, closing his eyes. A month ago exactly, he had kicked his best friend in the skull and began putting this madness in motion. "Ay," he mumbles, suddenly sick of his own thoughts, being stuck in his own skin with nothing to distract him. Scrambling out of the hammock, he walks back to the house and sighs softly, finding himself in the kitchen and watching Sofia quietly bustle around, making supper. The menu had changed, the woman abruptly not making any of Ricardo's favorites any longer, as if it hurt her too much to even look at the recipe cards she'd wrote up for the younger man long ago, much less smell or taste them, and he agrees silently with this.

"Is there something you need, senor?" she asks quietly, not even looking over at him as he continues lurking in the hallway between the kitchen and bedrooms.

He jerks back to awareness at her voice, surprised she'd even talked to him, before venturing further into the kitchen. "I suppose... I just wanted to see how you are doing." He can't tell what kind of reaction this garners, her expression not changing as she continues to season what looks like beef.

"I am fine, senor." But she sounds far from it and he walks even closer to her, lips held so tightly that he feels like he could burst at any moment. "Dinner will be done in about an hour."

He licks his lips and nods, staring vacantly into the pots and pans scattered around the range. "That's fine, Sofia." Finally fed up by all of this, he doesn't even mind about the mess on her fingers as he grips her by the arm and turns her around gently, staring down into her face. "Do you hate me?"

She blinks up at him, overwhelming fear hidden in her eyes and it hits him anew- she must think... if he could do something so callous to Ricardo, his best friend and loyal ring announcer of almost three years, then what's keeping him from doing something similar to her should she do even the slightest thing he sees as wrong, though perhaps not as physical, since he'd impressed upon her the few times his temper had gotten the best of him outside of the WWE that Alberto Del Rio wouldn't ever lay a hand on a woman.

Realizing just how unfair asking such a question of her right now is, when she's already uncertain about a lot of things because of him, he quickly releases her and steps back. "Never mind. Alert me when it is time to eat, por favor." He turns sharply and walks away, hands trembling at his sides as he heads towards his bedroom, glancing over his shoulder at the still closed door to what had once been Ricardo's bedroom, swallowing harshly. "Ay dios mio," he huffs, entering his room and shutting the door securely behind him.

Sofia comes to find him awhile later, knocking a time or two until finally she opens the door, beginning to worry at the lack of response, just to freeze in the doorway upon finding her employer fast asleep on his bed. He's still wearing his shoes and laying on top of the sheets, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he sleeps on, hands twitching against the straps of his title belt as it rests against his chest. She swallows and closes her eyes, looking away for a moment. She'd been unable to watch WWE since August the 5th, the pain she feels towards the whole situation proving too much for her to bear should she want to continue doing her job well, so she hadn't been privy to what had been going on between the former ring announcer and the man she's currently staring at, though she'd heard here and there that he'd found a new employer and they were currently going against Del Rio for the title belt.

Warily approaching the bed, she ponders if a title belt could've possibly been enough for Alberto to turn his back on three years of dedication, wincing to herself as she leans down and tries to free the belt from his grasp. He only clings to it tighter and she gives up on that idea, instead opting to wake him up a different way. "Senor, your meal is ready," she calls to him, grimacing when he only stirs slightly. Stepping hesitantly closer, she touches his arm. "Senor, it's dinnertime-"

He comes awake with a jerk at this, gripping her hand instinctively. She gasps and that's enough for him to awaken the rest of the way, become aware of what he's doing, soften his hold on her. As they stare at each other, he can't help the sleep-slurred words that once more escape his lips. "Do you hate me, Sofia?"

He never knows later on if it's because of the hold he has on her, or if because he's still half-asleep, but she actually stays, offers an answer, her voice quavering. "No, Senor," she breathes after some thought, her eyes shining with tears. "Hate is not the word I would use... I just fail to understand... why... this had to happen..."

He wants to explain so badly, it's just on the tip of his tongue, but... She gently slips her hand free of his, straightening up and brushing a hand over her face, across her eyes, to compose herself. "As I came in to say," she whispers. "Your meal is ready for you." Before he can say anything, she turns and leaves him to find his own way to the kitchen.

He watches her go, shaking his head. "Sometimes I don't understand it myself," he murmurs before going to eat, his eyes downcast and troubled.

Alberto is tense from moment one of Smackdown, watching as, once again, all of his fellow competitors file out onto the ramp. This time, Ricardo and RVD are right across from him, close to the microphone HHH had set up so they could speak their mind, but he purposely purses his lips together tightly, unwilling to risk his job on such stupidity. To his horror and disgust, RVD approaches the mic. What he says is inconsequential to the Mexican aristocrat, but the mere fact that he _is_ up there is beyond Del Rio's comprehension, watching as Ricardo stands anxiously next to him in the garish red shirt that he's begun to hate more and more. _That he would so willingly risk his career, along with Ricardo's, is beyond foolish,_ he thinks with a huff. _Patético..._

Thankfully HHH doesn't do anything in response to RVD's brazenness- until he grows bored of the talk, or so it would seem, and begins making matches. Puts RVD against Randy Orton. Though part of Del Rio is amused by this, anxious to see his former rival take out his current opponent, he also remembers. All of the times in the past Orton had targetted his ring announcer, kicking him, throwing chili and coffee on him, among other things. Thus as all of the others return backstage, his feet once more lead him where he doesn't want to go: to the commentary desk. He tries his hardest to avoid the Ricardo subject, but Cole and JBL push him to discuss it, and, still trying to sell his plan, he begins spitting out insults, once more falling silent after he targets the man's physical appearance, mentally skidding to a stop as he realizes what he's doing, closes his eyes.

With Ricardo's self-confidence dreadfully low after the suspension, not to mention how bad it must've been after he'd attacked and fired him, it's the last thing the ring announcer needs to be hearing, especially from him, but what's been said can't be taken back so he shakes his head and tries to focus once more on the match. It's then that RVD gets thrown from the ring, falling in front of them on the floor, and Ricardo races over to check on him. Orton, however, moves quickly as well and slides out of the ring, nearly landing on top of the ring announcer, who scrambles backwards and loses his balance, falling back against the floor with his hands held up to show he means Orton no harm.

Randy turns his attention once more to RVD and Del Rio comes back to himself just to realize he'd stood from the commentary table, instinctively about to race to the younger man's defense, only the luck of Orton not actually going after Ricardo keeping him in place. But before he can take his seat back, he looks over to find JBL staring up at him in calculating confusion, as if trying to deduce the purpose of his actions, his shrewd, dark eyes boring into Alberto's as if he can read his mind, see what's running through Del Rio's mind. Unable to imagine, after the last hellacious month, that everything he'd attempted could go up in smoke because of one movement due to something deeply ingrained within him after three years of friendship and a journalist desperate for the next great scoop to keep his career from falling stagnant, he remains standing and watches as Ricardo leans over just feet away, cheering on RVD.

He swallows, closing his eyes as he considers what is to come. _A month and a day,_ he thinks painfully. _A month and a day..._ This racing through his mind, he then _does_ leave commentary, but this time to grab his former ring announcer and ram him unforgivingly into the turnbuckle post. The younger man flips off of it, landing hard on the floor near the barricade wall, immediately slumping limply against the mat. Del Rio stares down at him, eyes dark with regret and anger at even having to do it just to keep his ruse afloat, when there's a flash of grey overhead and RVD lands on top of him, smashing him into the mat in defense of Ricardo. Del Rio groans and rolls away, watching as Orton quickly regains control of his opponent, throwing him into the commentary table before back into the ring, where Orton manages the victory.

Alberto laughs breathlessly as he forces himself to stand, eventually making his way into the ring to stand over his Night of Champions opponent, locking in the armbar. After being forced to break it, he once more looks out over the crowd, grinning proudly as if to say _this same thing will occur at Night of Champions_. Deep down inside, however... it takes everything in him not to look down, see his still dazed friend on the floor below, and go to collect him as he had many times in the past, get him to safety. He stares down at RVD, pondering just how easily it had come to the other man to get him away from the downed Ricardo, barely a moment passing from his slinging Ricardo into the post before Rob had dove down atop of him, this moment of defense ultimately costing him the match.

He closes his eyes, knowing now that this could be a clear cut way to win for Night of Champions. If it comes down to that, anyway, _and_ he can bring himself to do it, that is... His gaze grows troubled as he walks back up the ramp, his inate need to try to do right by Ricardo warring with his desperation to remain champion.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I'm back! A quick thank you all for your patience, and also noting that, in order to completely be caught up by the time I'm supposed to post chapter 8 on Sunday, BtB 167 and EuM 7 will be uploaded TOMORROW.

After a quiet weekend, Del Rio sneers at the match board listing him vs R-Truth, rolling his eyes at how easy _that _particular match sounds. And it is, really, even though they air a short video clip of RVD before, distracting him only slightly as he enters the ring, the highflyer determining that he will walk out of Night of Champions with the World Title. He takes his frustration out on the other competitor, Truth tapping out to the armbar quickly, and he sneers as he poses with his title, heading backstage.

He had only had eyes for his own scheduled match, forgetting entirely to check to see if there was anything involving RVD or Ricardo this evening, now going to check since his responsibilities are finished for the evening. Some of the board had been erased, due to many of the contests reaching their conclusions, so there's only a few left and he spots it towards the bottom: RVD vs Ryback. He swallows, glaring at the words. Even when his money and influence had been behind the ring announcer, bullies had been drawn to the younger man, content to belittle or attack him... not, in hindsight, that he has much room to judge them for their actions (especially now), but still. RVD being much more laidback and far from as influential as he, he doubts that this will end well for the ring announcer.

And so he once more finds himself heading out to the ramp after Ryback makes his way to the ring, staring down at his best friend and opponent. Watches closely while he once more insults the both of them, relieved when Ryback remains well away from his former ring announcer, staring on stupidly as Del Rio talks on and on, saying that those two deserve each other- and maybe, he thinks, after Friday and how RVD had tried to rescue Ricardo at his own detriment, they really do. The bell rings, the match begins and he slinks away, not wanting to distract Van Dam- not this time. The last thing he wants to see is Ryback get his hands on Ricardo, especially after what he himself had done on Smackdown.

But he does have to smirk a little when RVD's rough kicks anger Ryback and he slams Van Dam into the turnbuckle post groin first, unable to stop the wince as he recalls how _that_ feels, considering his own history. He catches the look of horror in Ricardo's eyes as he covers his face with his hands and swallows, losing his smirk as quickly as it'd come, growing pale. _They really are friends, aren't they?_ he thinks, having ignored the earlier introductions where Justin Roberts had announced Ricardo as RVD's numero uno amigo until this moment. _I thought perhaps... it was one sided, or just a business agreement, but..._ His eyes darken as he looks away. "I didn't want him to be alone, but..."

He huffs and watches through the curtain as Ricardo and the referee kneels by a struggling RVD, barely noticing as Ryback makes his way backstage and only just misses Del Rio on his way through. "Him? Really?" he whispers, remembering how Ricardo had been steadfast by his side following his surgery the year before, even though he'd been working through his own health issues following TLC 2011.

He shakes his head, not understanding just why he feels so disgusted and uncomfortable, sad and angry all at once, an odd kind of yearning underneath it all making him feel all the worse. _Is this what jealousy feels like?_

Alberto has no matches listed on the board that Friday and he's almost relieved, thinking perhaps he'll have a bit of a break before the pay per view. No matter how much of a fighting champion he may be, he's intelligent first and foremost and he knows any day off is a good thing, especially if your opponent has a match, but neither of them have anything that night, so he shrugs and goes to spend the evening in his locker room, watching lazily on his couch as the show carries on.

He's just popped a grape in his mouth, still unaccustomed to the lonely silence of having this room to himself, Ricardo usually sitting next to him, talking softly in Spanish about what ridiculous things are happening on the show, deriding the less than worthy superstars on the TV to his amusement, when Ricardo is shown entering Vickie's office. He frowns, aware that the two barely get along, when she tells the ring announcer that she's decided he won't be allowed in RVD's corner at Night of Champions for his own safety.

The very prospect is a relief to Alberto, not that he's worried that Ricardo will cost him the title, but more that the man _will_ be safe, that something like what had happened a few weeks ago, with JBL watching, won't be a possibility that night at least. But he quickly loses all optimistic feelings and thoughts when the younger man begins to argue, his innate need to see his job through grating at Vickie, the two of them going back and forth in Spanish until... she announces that Ricardo will face off with Alberto himself, and if he beats him, he'll be able to accompany RVD at Night of Champions like he wants. Ricardo continues to try to argue with her but she refuses to hear anymore and he leaves, frustrated.

Alberto's mouth goes dry as he grips the remote hard enough to break it. "No..." _She cannot be serious...? Ricardo and I, in a match? But..._ It was one thing he'd never considered, even when the ring announcer had returned against him in the corner of RVD, and had helped RVD become #1 contender. All he had ever wanted was Ricardo's safety, not this. Definitely not this.

He stares at the remote before throwing it away with a yell, glaring at the crater in the wall that it makes. "Puta!" he snarls, seeing Vickie's smug face yet again as she'd made the match. He goes through match preparation automatically, eyes closed and mind too full of disgusted thoughts for him to even focus on any one thing, surprised when he finds that he's now standing before a mirror, match gear in place, wrists taped and knees braced as he stuffs his feet in his boots and laces them up.

Staring himself in the eye, he shakes his head. "How am I supposed to do this?" Steeling himself, he turns and walks to the gorilla position, unsurprised to find Mike and Alex already there. The three of them stare at each other for long, tense moments, before he sneers and pushes through the curtain to the ring when his music starts.

He swallows when RVD's music hits and Ricardo comes out with his opponent in two days at his side, the two men looking at the ring and him as Ricardo steeples his hands in front of his mouth, his anxiety growing the closer he gets to the ring. Alberto's chest hurts as he watches him enter the ring, dreading the moment that bell marks the start of the match. It's all so wrong- the music, the shirt Ricardo is wearing, what he'll have to do to the man. But his victory here tonight will exclude the ring announcer from what will happen on Sunday, keep him safe, and that's the most important thing to Alberto.

He starts off simple enough, punches and a couple of kicks- careful to target a little lower than normal, his boot snapping off of Ricardo's chest instead of his skull, but the ring announcer is far from giving up without trying to fight back and he dazes Alberto, hitting a tornado DDT on him that leaves him laying long enough for Ricardo to climb awkwardly onto the top rope. Del Rio swallows and stares at him upside down, wondering what he has in mind but knowing that he can't allow him to even attempt it, before struggling to his feet and rushing to the corner in time to knock his legs from under him, crouching him on the turnbuckle. He turns his focus from Ricardo only long enough to kick a lurking RVD into the barrier wall, wanting this to end as soon as possible.

Alberto pauses for a moment before an idea, a realization comes to him, and he climbs up behind the younger man, wrapping an arm around his side securely before hooking the other around his head. He closes his eyes as Ricardo responds by curling one of his arms around Alberto's neck, bracing his feet against the turnbuckle post as Del Rio lifts him and flips him onto the mat below face first in a brutal looking reverse superplex. Acting instinctively, Alberto rolls off of him and pins him, his eyes prickling as the referee counts to three.

When he stands, his eyes are wet and he feels like crying, now that the match is over and the adrenaline is fading, honest hatred of having to do any of that to his best friend fills his veins but he knows he has to put the exclamation point on it all, convince Vickie that her decision is the correct one. Forget what's best for business, this is what's best for Ricardo and his safety, so he grips the ring announcer's arm and stretches it out in a weaker version of his horrible submission, wrenching back on it halfheartedly until- RVD appears and kicks him off, Alberto realizing, disquieted, with that action and his reaction that Ricardo's arm had snapped back further than he'd intended on as he'd been forced to break it.

He closes his eyes, avoiding RVD's further attempts at attack by rolling out of the ring, watching from the ramp as his opponent first checks on a miserable looking Ricardo, who is clinging to his arm with pain etched all over his face, then notices his title belt and picks it up, taunting him with it before handing it over to the referee to return to Ricardo's side. Del Rio sneers, eyes dark with hatred and self-loathing as he storms back up the ramp, discomfort thrumming through his veins as he considers how badly Ricardo could be injured- he'd been trying to be as careful as he could be with the match, and then the armbar, but RVD's kicking him and causing him to violently break the submission hold had ruined all of that.

He has no doubt that the trainer will yell at him for leaving the arena without getting his usual post-match check, but he can't take being in this building any longer, and he knows that Ricardo will need the trainer more than he right now. As much as he wants to know that the ring announcer will be ok, the last thing he wants is to be nearby when the trainer determines what the damage to the younger man's arm is, what Alberto's foolish decision coupled with RVD's needless attempt at rescuing his '_uno numero amigo' _had caused. As soon as the referee jogs his world title back to him, he clings to it and ducks into his locker room, staying only long enough to collect his things before leaving the arena, sitting in his car and staring out through the windshield.

Here, finally, the tears brought about by the match and his unceasing worries return, and he doesn't bother to stop them, feeling protected from nosy stares and mocking WWE fans by the tinted windows of his car. He slams a fist against the steering wheel and stares at himself in the rearview window, shaking his head at his ruddy, tearstreaked face. "Lo siento, mi amigo. That wasn't supposed to happen," he breathes out. "None of tonight was supposed to happen."

He allows himself five minutes before pulling out into traffic and making his way to the hotel, wanting nothing more than to collapse against yet another mattress in yet another dark, empty, depressingly quiet room, and sleep until Sunday, at least.

_Ricardo is sitting at ringside, watching as Alberto practices alone, punching and kicking, attacking thin air, doing what he can by his lonesome. One downfall to not being well-liked by pretty much anyone, no one is willing to train with you that often... That is, until his eyes fall on the ring announcer and, boring quickly of the limited things he can do by himself, he motions to him._

_Ricardo blinks and swallows, quickly getting to his feet and standing at the ropes. "Is there something you need, El Patron? Water, or-"_

_"I want you to train with me."_

_The ring announcer blinks repeatedly. "Uh, eh, El Patron. You hired me as a ring announcer, I haven't-"_

_"I know what I hired you as," he says simply. "Don't look so worried, I'm not intending on injuring you. I can't do that much alone, however, and I feel it's time you show me what you can do."_

_Ricardo stares, something behind his eyes that Alberto has to smirk at. The fire of competition, just lurking, waiting for a chance. "El Patron-"_

_"I know you were beginning to compete in California before I came along, and there are tales in FCW of what you have done. Besides, one does not manage a picture perfect dropkick out of nowhere as you did a few weeks ago against that perro Alex Riley, so come now. Let's stop pretending. Get in here."_

_Gulping, the younger man gets in and stares at his employer, biting his lip slightly. "Erm. What do you want me to do then?" _

_Alberto smirks, certain that he's going to enjoy this. They start off simply with punches and kicks to warm up before moving on to suplexes and bodyslams, Del Rio trying to gauge where Ricardo's rusty after being his ring announcer for so long, but he can't find much that needs work in the younger man, honestly impressed. _

_After an hour, they're both sitting on the mat, taking a break, Ricardo handing him over a bottle of water, when Del Rio grins at him. "What is it, El Patron?" he asks, honestly surprised as Alberto's generally never looked at him like that often._

_"I had my suspicions, it's just interesting to see what you're capable of first hand." He'd hired him as a ring announcer, with the decision that in-ring experience wasn't exactly necessary, but now that he's seen him in action, he has no doubt that he could handle pretty much anything thrown at him. Although more knowledge in defense couldn't hurt anyone. "I have an idea," he says, making it back to his feet after pouring the rest of the water over his head to cool off the rest of the way._

_Ricardo looks intrigued. "Eh, si, El Patron? Que?"_

_Alberto smirks at him as he stands and approaches, appearing a little apprehensive at the look on his employer's face. "Sit on the top rope, your back to me, amigo. I want to show you how to do something."_

_Ricardo hesitates for only a moment, looking warily from the turnbuckle to his employer and swallows. "Si, alright." He awkwardly climbs up, clearly not entirely comfortable with the situation. Which Alberto doesn't blame him, in this business, one should always be careful, even- especially- with their friends, so the mere fact that he so quickly went up at his directive anyway makes the Mexican aristocrat smile a little before he climbs up behind him. "Eh- El Patron?" he asks softly._

_Alberto glances at him before taking a breath. "This move isn't used that often in the WWE anymore, but sometimes... and if you can control one, you can learn to control a lot of them, which will help you if my opponents try to target you with them." _

_Ricardo blinks, not quite sure he knows what he's talking about. "Ah, ok..." He looks down as Alberto hooks an arm around his midsection and another around his neck, beginning to prepare to do whatever it is he has in mind. "El Patron..." he murmurs, growing even more concerned._

_"It's ok, amigo." He squeezes his side. "Here's what you need to do, hm? Wrap an arm around my neck." Ricardo swallows before following his commands, breathing deeply as he waits for Alberto's next suggestion. "Now when I begin to lift you, plant your feet on the turnbuckle post." Ricardo looks quizzically over at him and he laughs faintly. "You'll understand when I execute the move. Now do it." He squeezes his side again and watches as Ricardo then does as he'd said, planting his feet securely on the post as Alberto lifts him and flips him over, reverse superplexing him off of the top turnbuckle before he hits the mat chest first, Del Rio's weight landing on top of him a few moments later._

_Ricardo lays there, dazed, but not half as out of it as he'd expected after a move like that. After a moment, Alberto moves off of him and he looks over his shoulder. "El Patron?" he mutters._

_"Si, amigo?"_

_"How did you know?" He ponders how easily it had been to control the fall just because of a couple variations to the move- his feet against the turnbuckle post had grounded him until the last second, helped him determine which way he was going to fall, and his arm around Del Rio's neck had assisted them both in knowing how Alberto was going to land... all in all, it was an interesting little trick that he files away in case he _should_ ever need it in the future._

_Alberto grins fondly at him before ruffling his hair, pulling away as he sits up. "Years of practice, Ricardo. You learn many tricks like these after so many years."_

_The ring announcer nods, brushing some of the hair out of his eyes as he grins over at his employer. "I see. Gracias for showing me."_

_"Any time, mi amigo," he says quietly._

Alberto wakes up with a soft gasp, blinking into the darkness as he recalls that day with a soft smile. Shaking his head grimly, he rolls over and sighs, remembering how warm Ricardo's grin had made him feel.

He's not sure how exactly Sunday will go now, but he hopes that it brings no further harm to the younger man.


	7. Chapter 7

The weekend leading up to Night of Champions seems to somehow pass by both in a blur and excruciatingly slow, Del Rio staring out over the city line as he waits for the event to start, put him out of his misery. The memories of time past with Ricardo continue to haunt him and he swallows, missing having his friend by his side for pay per views, or just general day to day things.

But he knows, despite his good intentions from the start, that he deserves all of this. Deserves the pain as he turns a corner at the arena Sunday just to find Ricardo and RVD standing close together in the hall, the ring announcer grinning as RVD stumbles over saying various Spanish words. "No, no, that's _antedecir_," he says with a laugh.

Rob hesitates and looks over at him, eyebrows raised. "Oh. Yeah. Alright, man. _Antedecir_."

"It just means I predict victory for you," Ricardo says, eyes gleaming even as he gingerly shifts his still healing arm in the sling. Rob grins and wraps an arm around his shoulders, the two still going back and forth on various Spanish words as they return to the locker room to finish getting ready.

Alberto releases a shuddering breath before looking around. Finding a tech, he stands over the man and stares down at him darkly. "Um, how can I help you, Mr. Del Rio?" he stammers, eyes wide in intimidation.

"What is Ricardo Rodriguez doing here? I thought he wasn't allowed to be in RVD's corner tonight," he spits, everything from Friday once more playing through his mind as he wonders if he'd heard wrong, or-

"Vickie Guerrero changed her mind, she decided he's allowed after all." The tech grows truly worried then as Alberto all but snorts at him in anger, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tries to get away from the tense Mexican aristocrat.

"Ay dios mio," he snarls, pressing a thumb against the bridge of his nose. _That_ will make all of this much worse, having to compete the match with his best friend watching, hoping for Del Rio's failure. And if he should try anything and force Alberto to react... "Maldita sea..."

Beyond frustrated, he storms back into his locker room and slams the door behind him, leaning against it as he breathes heavily, shaking his head. "Why can nothing go right?" Kicking his heel against the wood, he lunges forward and grips his title belt, staring at it grimly. "I have to finish the match quickly," he decides. "Not that I was planning on drawing it out, but one way or another-"

And so, when the time comes, he ignores the ring announcer as best as he can, which is especially hard with flashes of red from that garish shirt RVD had given him in his peripheral vision every time Ricardo moves at ring side, but he focuses as well as he can on the contest, things disturbingly even between he and the highflyer until finally he slips the armbar on, twisting back in ways he had tried to be careful not to do on Friday to Ricardo, honestly not caring if he hurts Rob or not.

The referee begins ordering him to release the hold when Rob makes it to the ropes a few moments later, and he considers it for a split second before catching a glimpse of Ricardo, arm still held to his side thanks to the sling, and he shakes his head, pulling back even harsher on the appendage, smirking as the referee begins the count. Bypassing five, he calls for the bell and the match goes by DQ, Alberto laughing as he yet again regains his belt. The technical loss means little to him, he is still champion, and that's the important thing.

But the longer he stares out at his former ring announcer, remembering Friday, how RVD's stupidly impulsive action had caused him to probably injure Ricardo's arm when he had been doing his level best to be careful with the armbar, he rolls out of the ring and finds a steel chair, wanting to make the other man pay for that, for challenging him, for... taking their friendship and making it seem so replaceable, even though part of him logically knows that's not what happened. He's about to swing at the downed man when there's a flash of red behind him and-

The chair's gone, his lips parting in shock as he turns to look, a determined looking Ricardo quickly escaping with the weapon. That distraction is enough as RVD kicks him, dazing him. The next thing he knows, he's in the corner of the ring and Ricardo is kneeling next to him outside of the ropes by the turnbuckle, holding the steel chair against his face and... _nononono..._ but he's weary and unable to move, simply watching through the slots in the steel as RVD climbs the rope on the other side of the ring and dives, striking the chair against his face in one of his old moves, pain immediately throbbing down his jaw as blood wells up in his mouth.

He knows immediately. He's lost a tooth. Groaning as referees and trainers enter the ring to help him backstage, he spits it out into his hand and feels around his mouth with his tongue, grimacing at the coppery taste. "Ay," he hisses. Between this pay per view and the last, his face is taking a fair amount of damage- black eyes and lost teeth and...

He's almost afraid to see what Battleground in a few weeks will bring him.

Thanks to his money and impatience, he gets into a dentist early the next day and begins to repair the damage done, relieved to be told that everything would be sorted in time for Smackdown.

Granted the night off from Raw as he's still numb from the beginning stages of work done to him only a few hours earlier, he watches from his hotel room as RVD defeats Sandow and celebrates with Ricardo, eyes narrowed as he rewatches still frames from the Van Terminator that they feel the need to air. He _does,_ however, grow a little concerned when Miz is taken out by Orton and Ricardo disappears, not seen for the rest of the night even when RVD is shown. He suspects the ring announcer had probably gone to spend time with the loudmouth, but still, it's somehow unsettling not even catching a glimpse of Ricardo for the rest of the night.

Smackdown is even worse. Ricardo is still not there, the rumor being that RVD had given the younger man the night off to stay in LA, and Alberto blinks a time or two, trying to think. He can only remember a handful of times he'd given him time off, and each time only due to injury or because of his suspension. It had never been just because, and yes, the man had never complained, seeming content to remain by Del Rio's side and do what needed to be done, but Alberto is a little disquieted by the thought of it, wondering if there had ever been time Ricardo would've liked a day off here and there just to relax, have some time to himself...

But it's too late to fix_ that_, so he tries to distract himself by watching idly as Vickie announces an elimination match with the eleven superstars who had fought together on Raw against the three members of The Shield, one at a time, RVD in the mix. He smirks, now growing relieved that Ricardo isn't at the show tonight, able to fully enjoy Rob get what's coming to him at the hand of those jackals...

The first four competitors, of course, are defeated soundly quickly by the three men, and number five is RVD himself. Alberto sits forward to watch, a prickling reminder in the back of his mind that, nearly on the other side of the country, his former ring announcer is probably sitting anxiously, watching also as Rob fights against the three men, somehow holding his own where the past four had failed.

It looks like he might have a chance, to Del Rio's complete disgust, when HHH's music hits and distracts everyone as he puts an end to the match until Roman stands and throws Rob clean off of the turnbuckle, the man hitting the barricade wall and slumping to the floor below, barely twitching. Alberto has to laugh, not minding the man's turmoil, although he grows all the more thankful that Ricardo is nowhere nearby to get wrapped up in this madness.

Quickly growing bored of watching the show, Alberto leaves his locker room and wanders the hallways, looking around for anything to do- he has a nothing match against R-Truth a little later, but for now-

"Hey, Del Rio," HHH's gravelly voice calls out and he stops short, turning to look at the COO suspiciously. "Come here, I have something to tell you."

Joining him warily, Alberto raises an eyebrow at him and waits while HHH smooths down his suit. "What do you want?" he finally asks, unable to bite down his impatience any longer.

"Since your match at Night of Champions ended in a disqualification, I'm granting RVD a rematch at Battleground," he finally says. "Just wanted you to know. I'm about to tell Rob now."

All Del Rio can do is gape as the man enters the trainer's office, his voice audible through the open door. Alberto glares at the wall as he listens to HHH question the trainer about RVD's condition, then tell him about the rematch. As soon as the room is quiet, HHH now gone, Alberto enters from the other door and stands, silently stewing as he stares at his opponent, remembering his lost tooth, how comfortable Ricardo seems to be becoming around him, the anger growing within him.

Clenching his fist, he attacks, barely mindful of what he's actually doing as he sends the man to the floor, throwing him into storage cases and almost considering leaving then, the man all but frozen at his feet as the trainer yells at him, instead turning back around and dropping a heavy case against RVD's back, leaving him motionless against the floor as he leaves, chest heaving.

His high continues as he quickly does away with Truth, that match barely lasting a few minutes until he taps to the armbar, the World Heavyweight Champion grinning. Yes, his mouth may still be tender and he may have to turn his focus onto Battleground shortly, but for now... for now, he's champion, Ricardo is safely away from this arena and whatever mess The Shield may bring later on under HHH's orders, and he's feeling pretty confident in what's to come.

Things could be worse.


	8. Chapter 8

"Your match is next," a tech tells Alberto Del Rio before hurriedly rushing away, not wanting to be in the Mexican aristocrat's presence anymore than is necessary, which seems to be a more regular occurrence since what he'd done to Ricardo nearly two months ago.

He sighs and adjusts his kneepad before making his way to the gorilla position, coming to a sudden stop when he sees his former ring announcer- who is, admittedly, hard to miss in a horrible yellow shirt that makes the red one look understated and simple- standing by the curtain, peering out as RVD's rough voice echoes through the arena, speaking to HHH. To his relief, there's no sign of the sling that had drawn Alberto's eyes to the younger man's arm in guilt and swirling sadness ever since Vickie Guerrero had forced them into that match the Friday before Night of Champions.

He would laugh if not for the worry coming off of Ricardo in waves that he can sense even from this distance, it being announced that RVD is in the running for a match against Orton later that evening, and Alberto purses his lips, wanting to see RVD get what's coming to him same as Miz had the week prior, but not wanting Ricardo to get caught up in the middle of that- after all, Orton had shown very little hesitation in targeting the younger man in the past...

Finally the group of ten find their way backstage and Alberto slips into the shadows, watching as the tag teams and single competitors all drift towards the locker rooms, leaving Ricardo and RVD in the hallway. "Hey, stop looking so worried, man," Rob tells him just loud enough for Alberto to hear once the flood of footsteps fades away. "I'm alright, and gonna continue to be, yeah? It's all good."

Del Rio sneers as Ricardo nods hesitantly, his hands twisted anxiously around the seams of his shirt. "I believe you, Rob," he finally says, allowing himself to be turned towards the locker room as well as they leave to prepare for either the elimination match _or_ Rob's match against Orton.

Trying not to dwell on how sincere the younger man sounded in that moment, Alberto walks towards the now empty gorilla position and does some quick last minute stretches for his match against Kofi Kingston, running his tongue over his teeth and the dentistry that much too much of the week prior had been wasted on.

Kofi, he must admit, puts up a decent fight, but it's not enough- it's never enough, Del Rio begins to enjoy taking out some of his every negative emotion that's been a constant in his life since August 5th out on the other man, probably destroying whatever chances he has against The Shield and not caring in the slightest.

After defeating Kofi officially, he makes his way backstage and sneers as he ignores the others scattered around the hallway, talking in low whispers what this could possibly mean, if more members of the team fall to injury so soon to the elimination match. He cares little about what is going on the rest of the show until Orton comes out to see who his opponent would be, the vote easily going to RVD. Del Rio isn't that surprised, eyes narrowing as the man comes out, Ricardo at his side. He remembers well the chili incident, and every other one after that, but the Viper doesn't seem that interested in Ricardo this time, all of his focus on hurting Van Dam, which is fine with Alberto in many ways.

The longer the match goes on, the less content Del Rio is to sit in the back and watch from his locker room, slowly going down the hall from monitor to monitor, making his way once more to gorilla just in time for the match to be counted out against both men, Orton's demolition of RVD continuing with little regard to the referee's warnings. Whatever enjoyment Alberto gains from all of this fades when Ricardo, standing by the ramp, watching in horror, is sent scurrying backwards to the side of the titantron, frozen by the wall as he watches his newest friend getting dismantled piece by piece.

Del Rio can only imagine what's going through his mind, especially when Orton targets RVD against the very same set of steps that Alberto had kicked into Ricardo back in August, swallowing harshly at his own recollection of that night. As Orton tosses him back into the ring and begins to set him up for the DDT off of the top rope, the whole arena going still and silent, Alberto glances around at everyone's rapt attention aimed towards the monitors and sneaks out the side, near where Ricardo's standing.

His attention quickly diverted from what's going on in the ring, the ring announcer stares in horror at his former employer and even Alberto is thrown for a moment by the look in his eyes, the two of them stuck staring at each other for long moments, until there's a sharp laugh overhead and Del Rio looks up to find Orton just now leaving a defenseless Van Dam behind, the maddened look in his eye enough to unsettle even Alberto. Forcing himself away from Ricardo, not willing to let _this_ opportunity go, he races to the ring and sneaks in, locking in the armbar as the referees, trainer, and doctor alike all bark warnings at him, trying to get him to break the hold. Which he does, but only momentarily before bursting through the group of men and twisting Rob's arm once more out of position, gleeful in his pained struggles.

When he does break the hold this time, he doesn't try for a third time, merely walking back up the ramp with a pleased smirk on his face... until he once more catches sight of a flash of yellow off to the side and slowly turns his head to look at Ricardo again, this time unsettled by the look of pure, unadulterated anger on the younger man's face, tears in his eyes as he glares up at Alberto in a way that he never had, even when they'd seen each other for the first time after the 5th on that horrible Raw when Ricardo had revealed his new allegiance with RVD.

Alberto swallows thickly and turns back towards the ramp, leaving everything but the memory of Ricardo's expression etched into his brain behind. He can't even properly enjoy the fact that RVD is the first eliminated later on that evening because of it.

He's in a match with R-Truth that Friday when things begin to go wrong again. He's hit harshly in the jaw by a surprising sequence of offense by the other competitor, sending him stumbling forward as he tries to blink through the daze, fresh, warm blood filling his mouth once more as he closes his eyes, hit with the sharp recollection of his dentist telling him over and over again to be careful as his work sets. But champions can't be careful, especially in a business such as this, so he waves it off, licks his blood-stained lips with an ugly smirk before kicking Truth viciously in the skull, stopping whatever pitiful attack he might try next and leaving him susceptible to a pin.

But blood is still filling Alberto's mouth and he feels frustrated, anger boiling through his veins as he turns once more on the man and curls around him, twisting his arm back in his dreaded armbar. The referee is standing over him, once more screaming at him, when he sees a flash of purple and black before he's kicked off of the other man, watching distantly as Ricardo reaches in and helps Truth out of the ring, leaving him on the floor at RVD's direction before going to get a steel chair.

_Nonono,_ Alberto is only just able to think when the chair is thrown into the ring by his best friend, Rob collecting it and bashing him with it, his arm and midsection throbbing harder with each strike. He apparently grows bored of this quickly, however, taking a few steps away before lunging forward and kicking it into Del Rio, leaving the World Champion slumping against the ropes before he slides off of the apron to the floor, where he lands with a dull thud, too dazed and hurting to do much of anything else. His arm is killing him, not to mention his still sluggishly bleeding mouth, but worse than that is the look on Ricardo's face as he looks down at him, reminding him of how angry he'd seemed on Monday after Del Rio had attacked RVD.

He barely even notices Rob next to the ring announcer, holding his title up high, collapsing against the mat holding his arm and face miserably.

He's still out of it as he's helped to the back, consciousness fading in and out as he hears something about a Hardcore match, barely aware of whatever's going on around him as he's laid down on a cot for the trainer to examine him, the last of his strength fading from him when his throbbing body hits the soft padding, Alberto falling asleep almost immediately in desperate search of some sort of escape from the internal and external agony he finds himself in.

"I'm sure Mike would appreciate the distraction," Rob tells Ricardo with a simple smile. "I'll be alright, just gonna watch this match at ringside, make sure The Shield doesn't try anything to disrupt Ziggler's chances at the US title. I'll see you afterwards, man."

The ring announcer nods grimly and watches him walk off, his head tilting curiously as he considers his suggestion to return to the locker room, watch the match with Mike and distract him from what's to come with Orton a little later on. He knows he should do that, be the kind of friend that Mike had been to him time and time again since Alberto's betrayal, but his thoughts are drawn elsewhere and before he can think through what he's doing, his feet lead him elsewhere.

Pausing outside of the trainer's office, he takes a breath and looks left and right down the hallway, unsettled by how quiet it is, who is behind this door. He swallows and gingerly pushes the door open, peeking inside. The trainer pauses and looks up, eyes widening with some surprise as he realizes who's standing there before he goes on about his business, organizing some of the medical supplies that had gotten scattered while he'd tried to ease the bleeding of Alberto's gums.

Ricardo closes his eyes, entering the room fully, before approaching the cot where the motionless Mexican aristocrat is laying, staring down at him, lips twisted in confusion as his hands curl into fists at his side. Releasing a shuddering breath, he relaxes his grip as well as he can, considering, before sitting down next to him, unable to help feeling deja vu from all of the times in the past he'd been near a languishing Alberto, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, take his pain away.

Now, he's not sure what to feel. Much less what to think. Leaning closer, he examines the older man's face, taking in how pale he is, the trail of blood still darkening his chin from the damage caused by the Van Terminator. He thinks he should feel worse about all of that than he actually does, aware that he'd maybe held the chair a little too close to his face than is wise that night... but Alberto hadn't seen concerned of _Ricardo's_ face when he'd kicked those steel steps into it.

Releasing a shuddering breath, he sits back and presses his hands together in his lap anxiously, shaking his head. "I don't know why I'm here," he admits. "Rob is busy, and Mike is distracted, so this seems like the best time, but... I shouldn't be here. I know I shouldn't give you a second thought. I have a new home, I have new friends, I have ... a new life... but I have no closure for the old one."

Staring back at the sleeping World Heavyweight Champion, he shakes his head. "I... had this... I'm not sure. A memory? A hallucination? A wish? ... Whatever you want to call it, it was so vivid. Like I was right there, in the very moment you were saying these things, as if should I reach out, I could stop you, change that night." He laughs brokenly and looks down once more. "You said all of these things... these _nice_ things, that make it seem like... you were leaving me behind for _my_ best interests, but... it makes no sense, I'm clearly missing something. Or just failing to understand what I do know." He holds back a broken sob, disgusted by the unending tears filling his eyes, even after all of this time. "I just wish you would _tell_ me _why_," he chokes out, looking up and freezing to find Alberto awake, staring at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Mi amigo, where is your bowtie?" he murmurs groggily, clearly still out of it.

Ricardo swallows and shakes his head, standing up, suddenly realizing what a bad idea this all is as he feels cornered and yet unable to escape the dark stare of Alberto's blank eyes, frozen in place next to the cot. "You- you don't get to call me that. Not anymore."

Del Rio laughs a little bit, breathing loudly through his nose. "Whether I can or can't, it doesn't keep it from being true. You will always be... mi amigo. Even if... just in here," he says, resting his hand on his chest, over his heart. "For me to know about."

As the man's head falls back against the cot, a small smile on his lips as he stares blurrily up at the ceiling tiles, Ricardo breathes desperately, feeling like he's about to hyperventilate. "Why? Why though? Why?"

Tilting his face to look at him, Alberto smiles a little wider. "Why do I ever do anything, Ricardo?"

"I don't know," he cries, feeling like he's about to fall apart at the seams, lose the tenuous control he had slowly began to regain over some things since his horrid suspension and his even worse firing at Alberto's hand. "You never told me anything, even when- even when you claimed I was your best friend!"

Alberto seems undisturbed by his impassioned cries, despite the trainer's sharp step nearer to warn Ricardo about all but yelling in the office, and sighs tiredly, unable to look away from his former ring announcer. "To protect you, tonto. That's all I've wanted to do..."

Ricardo looks like he's been slapped, mouth sagging open as his eyes well with fresh tears, pale and shaking as he stumbles backwards away from the cot, ignoring the trainer's attempt at keeping him from falling as he moves away from his former friend. Overwhelmed with all of his thoughts and feelings, the ring announcer grips the doorknob and struggles for a moment before finally forcing the door open, almost breaking it clean off in his haste to get away. "No tiene sentido!" he forces out, breathing raggedly as he turns on his heel, barely noticing a gaping, worried Mike as he rushes past him, desperate to get away.

When the trainer shakes himself free from the fugue that this drama has brought over him a few moments later, he turns to find that Alberto is once more asleep, seemingly without a care in the world.

Del Rio doesn't remember much of the conclusion of the match against Truth. Nor does he remember hearing that the Battleground match had been made a Hardcore match. Nor does he know why the trainer had looked at him so strangely throughout his final examination before allowing him to leave the arena.

But he does remember one simple thing, a voice in his head that he'll never be able to forget, no matter how much time may pass. He shudders and looks up, wondering if it's real- if Ricardo _had_ been in the trainer's office while he was there, or if he had merely imagined it. But it feels so real, the old comfort of his ring announcer's presence always ingrained in his veins, that he doesn't really doubt it had happened.

Somehow, it makes him only feel more worn and sad as he cocoons himself in his sheets, wanting nothing more than to fall back into that peaceful sleep, pretend that the younger man is once more nearby, watching over him.

It doesn't work; his sleep is restless and wrought with nightmares of confused, dark eyes watching him, asking again and again, _Why, El Patron? Why?_


	9. Chapter 9

Ricardo stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets as he walks side by side with Rob, the two of them moving away from Mike and Alex's hotel room to find somewhere quiet to talk. Rob had observed the ring announcer's lingering sadness and confusion from Friday, finally convincing him to tell him what's been going on. It seems easy to decide where to go, the two of them almost laughing as they both reach for the door to the roof, ignoring all signs that warn only hotel staff are allowed to use it. Finding it unlocked, they do grin then, Rob motioning Ricardo on ahead.

He walks up the stairs slowly, staring up at the late morning sky as Rob joins him. It at least will be a quiet place to confess, so he sighs and settles in by a grate, looking over his shoulder at his friend as he sits down crosslegged across from him. "So what's been going on with you, man?"

Ricardo closes his eyes and breathes in the soft air, sighing. "Well, um. I know I should've told you this sooner, especially considering- I don't want you to think that it's going to affect my ability to work for you, or my dedication to you becoming World Heavyweight Champion." Rob begins to look worried so he finally just lets it all out- the dream he'd had before Night of Champions, how it had weighed on him the past few weeks, and now... this past Friday, Alberto admitting to him that he'd apparently done it all to _protect_ him... and what Mike had said afterwards, about the bowtie, that had pieced it together and made it all so very painfully real in Ricardo's mind. By the end of his recollections, he's back on his feet, pacing distressedly. "I don't want you to think that what Alberto has said, what I think I'm remembering, will cause me to betray you, or anything. Two wrongs don't make a right, and I would never do to someone what Del Rio has done to me. Por favor, Rob-"

Van Dam finds his feet and stops Ricardo's pacing with warm hands on his arms, squeezing. "Hey, man, I don't doubt you, ok? I trust you, and I know you mean it when you say you want to help me become World Champ. Don't worry about it." He rubs his hands up and down his biceps briskly before moving away, once more sitting crosslegged. "But you honestly mean, through all of this, he was somehow doing it all in your best interests? He has a weird way of showing it, huh?"

Ricardo nods, sitting back down across from him. "Yes, he does. But the more I've thought about it, the more... it kind of made sense, I guess. That whole match that Del Rio and I had, it was weird in and of itself." He distractedly massages at his recently injured arm, sighing. "See, first of all, the trainer himself said it. The injuries I received from the armbar were... minimal compared to most. I was too scared to realize it at the time, but he barely had ahold of me, was only applying enough pressure for it to _look_ painful. Maybe if I hadn't struggled so much, nothing bad would've come from it." He bites his lip, still replaying that horrible night over in his mind, as well as he can remember considering how fast everything had happened, how dazed he was... which reminds him. "On top of it all... That superplex?"

"Yeah?"

He sighs. "It was a move that Alberto taught me how to defend myself against." He stares at his hands. "There's no way he did it accidentally, Alberto does nothing accidentally, especially in the ring."

Rob nods, leaning closer while maintaining his crosslegged positioning, Ricardo envying him his flexibility for a moment before focusing on what he's saying. "Listen, man. I understand why you feel conflicted, but you don't need to be. I've enjoyed having you working alongside me, and I'll be honest... what I know of this whole Del Rio situation, it doesn't sound like it was a healthy friendship, if you don't mind my saying. But ultimately it's your decision. If you continue working with me, that's great, and if you want to try to sort things out with him, that's fine too. I won't make you choose between us. I know how twisted up things can get in this business, friendships come and go, and sometimes are reborn when you least expect it. You're a good guy and I trust you to keep things professional when it comes to being my ring announcer, so either way, I'm not gonna pressure you into anything."

Ricardo swallows heavily and shakes his head, smiling wanly. _Alberto rarely if ever was so understanding,_ he thinks grimly. "Thank you, Rob," he breathes out. "I'm not planning on making any big decisions right now, however. I still haven't worked out what I think about what Alberto has told me, much less everything else. If you don't mind, I'd be pleased to remain on as your ring announcer."

Rob chuckles. "Of course, man. I told you, I trust you."

The younger man sighs, warmth from his new friend's easy faith suffusing him and easing some of his worn confusion. "Gracias, Rob."

There's a strange vibe about the arena that following week's Raw, not that Alberto exactly cares about what else is going on to the others this evening, as usual, but the building just feels... off. He realizes why quickly when he notices that Ricardo isn't there, spotting RVD alone wandering the halls with that typically infuriatingly easygoing look on his face. The part of him that'd been quietly yearning just for a glimpse of his best friend after Friday night grows all the more vocal, Alberto wondering why exactly he's so deadset on it, unable to distract himself even during the match against Zack Ryder later that night.

The annoying man even gets a couple of nearfalls, Del Rio only just kicking out both times, his anger and disgust in himself growing as he fails to get much of any offense against Ryder, until finally he forces himself to think back on something other than Ricardo's not being at the arena again, finding focus in hte match finally as he recalls in the past how Zack had mocked Ricardo relentlessly, even going so far as to pour milk over his head apropos of nothing one night, which is why Alberto had so often been amused whenever the man had been put into matches against him, finding some joy in locking in armbars on him over and over again, making him give up quicker each time, his own measure of gaining revenge... He regains composure at these memories, whipping Ryder's arm against the bottom rope before twisting him into the armbar, the _broski_ quickly tapping.

But the victory holds no pleasure to Alberto, who remains frustrated at just how long it'd taken, in comparison to the past matches when he could have the man beat within three minutes or less. After kicking Zack in the head, he leaves the ring, still tense with displeasure. He grows all the angrier when he watches RVD doing an interview, airing a clip of his past matches and what he was capable of doing in a hardcore match, sneering as he watches it. _Meh, idiota gringo. Haven't yet seen what I'm capable of in such a setting, now have you?_

He closes his eyes, wishing that Ricardo would also be kept out of this situation, but somehow knowing that that's very unlikely, especially after the last PPV, when he thought he was in the clear, just for RVD and Miz to work together and have Vickie reverse her own decision. He can only imagine what the ring announcer could do this Sunday, the dread swirling up within him as he considers the multitude of possibilities, all of the things that Ricardo had done for him during ladder matches and other weapon-based matches, what he might risk to assist RVD. _Ay... Ricardo. For once, try to keep yourself safe. Revenge against me isn't worth you getting injured, mi amigo._ He shakes his head, shouldering his bag and leaving the arena, unable to fight his uncomfortable jitters as time passes somehow alternatively quickly and slowly all at once towards the Battleground ppv.

Smackdown comes along and it's hard to miss Ricardo in that bright pink Rise Above Cancer t-shirt with RVD's logo on it, his Battleground opponent standing next to him in the matching black one. Alberto swallows, staring at them as they talk carelessly in the middle of the hallway, Ricardo grinning and motioning with his hands as he tends to do when happy and at ease. He can't remember the last time Ricardo had been like that around him, before the suspension, he thinks. Maybe after the Payback PPV, which feels so long ago now... He sighs and ducks into his locker room, not wanting to be caught staring at them. As it happens, anyway, Van Dam has a match against Fandango and he watches with a small smile as Ricardo looks on incredulously at the dancing man in the ring.

The match doesn't last that long, RVD about to win when Summer Rae comes around and pushes him off-balance on the top rope, the match going by DQ. Fandango begins looking for a weapon after leaving Rob in the ring, struggling to recollect himself, Ricardo yelling at the man while trying to stay out of his way. He doesn't find weapons under the ring so he goes to the other side, just for Ricardo to approach and slam a fist against the steel beams that hold the ring apron together painfully hard, the sound it makes causing Del Rio to wince. It accomplishes what he'd wanted, however, distracting Fandango from his mission- long enough for RVD to finish regrouping and kick him away from the ring announcer, Alberto's tense stare relaxing infinitesimally until he refocuses, a trash can being rolled into the ring. As Ricardo holds it in place in a manner that's way too similar to the night Alberto had lost his tooth, Van Dam climbs up on the other side of the ring and dives, hitting another Van Terminator as the younger man lets go of the weapon and steps aside just in time.

Del Rio hisses and rolls his eyes as he watches the two men laugh and examine the shredded trash can, sneering before he angrily clicks the TV off and goes out for his own match and the interview that is scheduled just before it. He's just said he's going to throw RVD into a trash can and send him back where he came from- which is a nice visual, especially when, for a wild moment, he imagines also reclaiming his friendship with Ricardo after doing so... though he logically knows it's not going to happen, no matter what happens this weekend. He had worked too hard to get them to this point, allow the man to find some independence and happiness far away from Alberto and his various issues.

He's interrupted, however, from both his interview and fanciful thoughts by a hesitant looking tech who approaches with something that Alberto quickly recognizes, telling him it's a present from RVD. He stares down at the battered trash can, swallowing harshly as he takes it from the man, forgetting everything else as he stares down at it, his daydreams about this Sunday- leaving with his title, RVD left battered and bruised, and Ricardo once more where he belongs- shattering into a million pieces at his feet. With a snarled yell, he throws the trash can angrily before storming off for his match against Dolph Ziggler.

Even through the haze of anger, he spots the current Money in the Bank holder, Damien Sandow, at the announcer's table, and he glares out at the other man as he waits for Ziggler to make his way to the ring. The match is brutal, and he starts to worry again for his dental work, but by the end, everything _but_ his teeth hurt, Alberto holding his neck post-victory as he stares out over the crowd, title held high in success. He drops uncoordinatedly back to the mat with a bone rattling impact and winces, wishing again that Ricardo was there to help him back to the trainer's, distract him from the pain with his softly spoken Spanish, careful fussing.

But he's not, Alberto has to find his own way or appear weak to the thousands of eyes on him should he allow the referee to assist him, so he trudges up the ramp and to the trainer's office stubbornly, eyes only half opened as he sits down to wait... when an odd flash of memory comes back to him, of this room and... hurting dark eyes, so familiar but... _"Why?" _

It feels like some sort of strange deja vu, distant and muffled as though he's reliving it through thick, confusing fog, as he swallows, hears himself ask _"Why do I do anything, Ricardo? ... To protect you of course, tonto. That's all I've wanted to do..."_

He pales, neck pain all but forgotten as he sits up with a jerk, eyes wide. "Maldita sea! No, no..." He stares ahead, horrified as he realizes that it's highly possible his carefully crafted plan is about to crash and burn at his feet, depending on what Ricardo had heard out of his own lips the week prior. "Ay, fool!" he grouses at himself. "Why did you have to say anything?" But the longer he sits there, the more of the memories begin to register with him, causing him to wonder. "And what was Ricardo doing in here with me?"

He stares at the calendar, realizing that the next night would be a complete two months since he'd put this all in motion. "No, no, it cannot end like this... I've done too much, I can't allow it to..."

His resolve had clearly become too weak after all of this time, he can't allow forces beyond his control to make it any harder to uphold. Quickly forgetting his post-match exam, he leaves with a new determination, aware that having less than 48 hours before Battleground is giving him very little time to properly brainstorm, figure out what to do before the PPV to make sure that his plan won't be in any further jeopardy. But he has to salvage it, somehow.

And he will.


	10. Chapter 10

There's another odd vibe in the air tonight, suffusing the Battleground arena. Del Rio is trapped in his thoughts, reflecting on what he'd said to Ricardo, pondering yet again why the younger man had even been to see him that night, and all he wants to do is go back in time, when things were simpler and he wasn't straining by his fingertips to hold it all together. He's far from prepared mentally when he's notified just before the preshow starts that his match against RVD will be first on the card, glaring up at the tech who tells him. He still hadn't come to any conclusion about how to fix his own faux pas, and Ricardo's tweet about his past and his present colliding tonight leaving him conflicted doesn't help at all.

He closes his eyes and grips his phone tightly, shaking his head. "Do nothing foolish, mi amigo. I can't allow you to ruin everything, not now," he mutters to the tweet, eyebrows furrowed as he thinks about all possible things that could happen within the hour. Still distracted upon making his way to the ring for his match, Del Rio can't quite find his footing in the early minutes of the match, RVD introducing weapons early on. Finally Alberto slips into that automatic place many of them go, all thoughts and emotions fading from his mind as he slowly gains the advantage against his challenger. At least, until he prepares to lock in the armbar on his struggling opponent and there's a flash of pink to the side, something harsh impacting with his flesh. He arches away and curses at the sharp pain, turning to find Ricardo standing across from him with a bucket in hand, the sight stealing Alberto's breath. He shakes his head and snarls, remembering how he had battered Ricardo with the bucket, wondering if it had hurt half as much, relieved at least that Ricardo had had his suit on when he'd so brutally attacked him with the item.

It hurts, more emotionally than physically, as he throws RVD out of the ring to give them time to be face to face for the first time since that one Friday, and he approaches his former ring announcer, his eyes dark and focused as he watches him. The younger man looks hesitant, scared and uncertain, and it takes everything in Alberto not to comfort him. He looks like he could start swinging with the bucket at any moment, and Alberto would almost not blame him after everything, but he tries to keep his voice steady, remembering what he'd said to him ten days ago as he steps closer. "Give me the bucket," he urges him, holding out a hand towards the weapon. "Come, Ricardo. I won't use it on you, I just want to retain my title-" And it seems like Ricardo is listening, slowly holding out the steel bucket towards his former employer. "That's it, mi amigo-"

But things change in a hurry, as soon as those words leave his lips. Ricardo's eyes darken and he strikes out, kicking Alberto in the stomach with as much force as he can offer- which, considering his ankle issues and how little the man has been able to compete the last three years, is fairly considerable, winding Alberto and sending him folding in on himself. Another strike and another, the bucket biting into his flesh and he can't stop the flash of anger as he regains control of the situation, slinging Ricardo outside and against the barricade wall. He's running at the younger man, preparing to kick him in the skull, when he realizes what he's doing and stops just short, changing the direction of his attack, instead kicking him in the shoulder. Still a forceful strike, but not enough to seriously injure him, but to keep him from getting involved in the rest of the match.

Alberto's turning slowly, trying to catch his breath, when RVD comes out of nowhere and regains the upperhand. The next thing Alberto knows, he's sandwiched between a ladder and the floor, only a few feet away from Ricardo's slumped form, able only to watch as his opponent flips off of the apron on top of him, causing his whole body to throb. But it all goes downhill for the ECW original from there, Del Rio unable to remember afterwards how exactly he regains control, catching the other man's arm in a steel chair and twisting it up in the armbar, wrenching back with what remaining strength he has until he feels Rob tapping, closing his eyes in relief.

He stumbles to the turnbuckles, title held over his head in victory once more, when he glances down to find Ricardo stirring sluggishly against the barricade wall, appalled again at the trainers nor referees or anyone checking on him up to now. He slowly looks up and their eyes lock as Alberto stares at him, holding the title against his chest as Ricardo blinks wearily, taking it all in. Tears fill the younger man's eyes before he slumps to the side once more, Alberto's chest aching with need to go make sure he's ok. The doctor is looking at RVD's arm, adding to Alberto's annoyance as he hops backwards off of the turnbuckle. Walking past them to leave with his title, he glares at the trainer, who is standing nearby, in case the doctor needs assistance, before glancing back out of the ring towards where Ricardo is laying, the not-so-subtle hint clicking with the man finally as he scrambles out of the ring, heading towards the announcer.

Ricardo's arm throbs, a bruise the shape of Del Rio's wrestling boots visible in his flesh, and the rest of him doesn't feel so great either, but he has no doubt RVD feels much worse, considering the brutality of the hardcore match. Neither man says much as the trainer and doctor goes back and forth, examining them and doing what's needed for their various aches and minor injuries. Finally the ring announcer grows sick of the silence and looks up. "I'm sorry, Rob," he says quietly. "I wanted to help, but I-"

Rob shakes his head, cutting him off. "No, man. You don't need to apologize about anything." He looks down at his arm as the trainer prods it, finally pulling away and standing slowly. "I need to talk to you about something." He grimaces, sitting back down next to Ricardo. "I was hoping-... well. I don't know what exactly I was hoping. But there's no point in keeping it from you, I should've told you sooner but I thought if I won the title tonight, then things would be different, but..."

Ricardo frowns, definitely _not_ liking the sound of this. "Rob-"

"I'm leaving for awhile," he says. "There's some issues with my contract, I have outside projects that need my attention, and I need a bit of time to refocus, get my head on straight again." He winces. "I... didn't mean to leave you in the lurch like this... when I agreed to this contract and signed on for all of these side-projects, I wasn't aware you'd become my ring announcer. If I had won tonight, I would've changed my plans, but I didn't so... I have to uphold my responsibilities. And I know, I had responsibilities to you too, and this is kind of a dick thing to do, I was planning on telling you sooner but I didn't want to add to everything you're going through until I was certain." He shakes his head, still gingerly toying with his arm. "I mishandled this, I know, and I'm so sorry, Ricardo..."

The ring announcer pales as the words finally register with him, swallowing harshly. "No," he says feebly, shaking his head. "Not again. Not... not..."

Rob blinks, eyes locked on him as he stands and stumbles away from the cot. "Ricardo-"

"I, I can't do this again-" He wipes furiously at his face, walking backwards into the door in his haste, wincing as it aggravates his bruises. "How could you do this to me? Call me your numero uno amigo and help me to feel secure, and... I don't understand..."

Rob stands, trying to stop him, make things better, but-

"What is wrong with me, that everyone leaves? Why can't anyone just _stay?_" he demands, shaking so hard that his fingers keep scraping against the doorknob, adding to the tension of the moment. "I... can't do this anymore." He finally runs out of the room, leaving a floored Van Dam behind, long gone by the time Rob thinks to look out of the door for him.

"Good job, Rob," he mutters to himself, sinking back onto the cot after a few painful moments. "Miz is going to _kill_ me..." He groans, staring at his hands. "Please be ok, Ricardo."

Alberto has just arrived back at his hotel room, wanting nothing more than to soak in steamy, hot water and ease some of the aches deep in his bones when he fishes his cell phone out of his pocket and thoughtlessly tosses it onto the bed, wandering around the room to collect fresh clothes and his specialized soaps and lotions. He's just tossed his shirt onto the bed, covering the phone, when he notices the flash of the screen underneath the fabric, notifying him to a text alert. Grunting, he's about to ignore it until later, when something stops him across the room and causes him to turn slowly back towards the bed. Scooping the phone out of the folds of his shirt, he presses a couple of buttons until accessing his text screen, unsurprised to find it's a twitter alert.

It's the content of the text that distracts him from everything, the bottle of soap slipping out of his fingers and hitting the floor with a soft thud as he sits down harshly on the bed, close to missing the mattress completely. "Ay. No, no." He stares at the screen, hoping that he's reading it wrong but knowing that he's not, an ill, disgusted feeling churning in his gut as he rereads the words over and over again. "Ay, mi amigo. _No..._" He examines the tweet, trying to decipher its meaning, figure out what had led to his best friend saying such things. "What did Van Dam do?" he mumbles, shaking his head as he recognizes once more that the full blame would never fall on the highflyer's shoulders, no matter what. Only one person had put Ricardo on this road. "...What have _I_ done?"

Forgetting all about his bath, he slips his shirt back on and paces around the room a bit, phone still in hand. Frustrated at no further tweets being sent out, he collects his keycard and leaves the room, abruptly needing fresh air to clear his head a bit. Walking through the maze of corridors, heading back to the elevator on the other end of the floor, he stops short when he sees a familiar form slumped against a door, knees hugged to his chest. _Ay carumba_, he thinks viciously, stepping back out of sight quickly before peering around the corner once more. "Ricardo," he whispers, able to feel the younger man's sadness and pain from here, his shoulders shaking so hard that it's hard to watch. _What are the odds that we would be on the same floor...?_

Del Rio had saved Alex's phone number during the younger man's suspension, just in case Alex felt the need to call him about Ricardo, and it's this he turns to now, holding no doubt that he and/or Miz are searching desperately for the ring announcer. He takes his time, trying to be careful with his faulty English, keeping all signs that it's him from the text after ensuring that his number is blocked. _Ricardo Rodriguez is outside of your hotel room. Hurry._

He stays only long enough to watch Alex Riley- and Tamina Snuka?- arrive and comfort him, draw him into the hotel room, before heading dejectedly back to his hotel room, scooping up the forgotten bottle of soap from the floor. He sighs, far from caring now as he goes to complete his earlier plans of taking a nice, long bath. "Por favor, Ricardo... be alright."

His focus now no longer needing to be on the hardcore match, he finds himself once more dwelling on what he could do to salvage his plan, undo everything that his groggy stupidity had caused a couple weeks ago. He's annoyed when his request for the night off is denied, wanting some extra time to think, but he keeps it to himself, trying to be charming and amusing when he runs into Vickie Guerrero, even flirting with her. After all, it doesn't hurt for the champion to remain on the general manager's good side... As he walks off, his scarf now around the woman's neck, he's unaware of the angry look she shoots at his back.

He's just made it to the ring, showing off his title belt to the audience, when Vickie comes out. He tenses as soon as she announces that his opponent is Ricardo Rodriguez, millions of thoughts running through his head. But the prevalent one is that he has to definitely laugh it off, act like it doesn't bother him that for the second time in a month, he's being forced to wrestle Ricardo. _And,_ this time, the younger man is all alone, no Rob in his corner or anyone to help, it making the rounds through the locker room all day today about how the highflyer had randomly decided to leave, take some time to get himself back at 100% spiritually and... whatever else he had said, Alberto failing to care after the first few words. He swallows, now understanding why Ricardo had been so broken up the night before, before falling back into his act, sneering at the ring announcer as he enters the ring, looking beside himself with anxiety. The bell rings and Del Rio circles him, preparing to begin, but Vickie's voice cuts in, distracting him as she announces that he has an opponent at Hell in a Cell after all- John Cena! He's screaming at her when he feels something crash into his back, startling him as he's grabbed from behind, his body twisted into a not very clean pin but, as awkward a pin as it is, no matter how he struggles, Ricardo has the momentum and holds on harder until the three count is achieved, Alberto all but screaming at Vickie as he hits the mat, the ring announcer quickly slipping out of the ring.

Emotions are warring in him- anger at the match he's being put into at Hell in a Cell, disgust that he'd lost here tonight, and, mixed in with all of that, pride in Ricardo for seeing an opportunity and taking it, just as Alberto himself had taught him from day one. Vickie leaves, cackling at him, and Alberto stares out of the ring, his friend standing on top of the commentary table and taking it all in. His heart sinks as he realizes, pieces clicking together with him... _Ay, amigo,_ he thinks wearily. _Why didn't you just leave?_

_If I want to ensure my plan..._ He slides out of the ring and races around, not allowing himself time to truly think about what he's doing. _I have to erase all conflict Ricardo may have..._ He clips his legs and cringes as he hears the harsh sound of his former ring announcer's body crashing against the top of the commentary table before toppling onto the ground. _ I have to make him see..._ He turns back around and kicks him in the skull, ignoring referees as they begin to swarm, yelling at him and throwing him into the steel steps before kicking him repeatedly. _... that he has to hate me._ Grabbing a chair, he wraps it around his arm and repeats much of what he'd done to RVD the night prior, stomping it over and over again before twisting him up in the dreaded armbar.

It has to be painful, he knows, a mix of his strength and the rough steel forcing Ricardo's arm into agonizing positions, but he's careful not to go too far and outright snap his arm, though he's not as careful as he'd been the last time, making sure that he _is_ setting out to hurt the ring announcer this time, just enough to prove his point. He breaks the hold quickly and leaves, somehow still so lost in the zone that he laughs instead of wanting to cry this time, though he's not sure it'll hold for too long.

No matter what, it'll always be listed that Ricardo holds a victory against the World Heavyweight Champion this evening. Alberto hopes that it helps him to feel a little better, somehow.

He's sitting at the end of his hotel bed, staring out of the window at the city life flowing on below him, when his phone beeps a couple of hours later. He stares down at it, reading the tweet there before breathing out, "Que? Adios, Ricardo?" His eyebrows furrow as he reads it again, hands trembling. "No, no, mi amigo, not adios. What are you saying?" He closes his eyes, shaking his head. "Ay dios mio, Alberto, you idiota!" No longer caring so much about his looming match against Cena, he tosses his phone and listens as it cracks against the headboard, a sound that ordinarily would've been satisfactory to him now as meaningless as everything else around him. "Yet again, you put your precious plans ahead of Ricardo, and look at what's happening."

He cards his hands angrily through his hair, breathing raggedly. "If he leaves because of this..." He groans, staring at his hands. "... I'll never forgive myself... You're stronger than this, Ricardo. Don't give up... not now, not because of me and my impulsive actions... por favor..."

Everything is still weighing on him when he returns to his house that Tuesday, staring blankly at Sofia as she once more greets him in a subdued fashion, taking his bags from him and putting them in their place. If she'd been wary before, she's downright cold to him now, her eyes dark and back rigid as she walks away from him. He deserves it, he knows. She doesn't understand that he set out trying to do right by Ricardo, and everything had snowballed far beyond his control very rapidly.

He can only imagine how she'd respond if she had seen the ring announcer's tweets from the last couple of nights. His upstanding morals already shaky in her eyes just by how he has treated Ricardo on TV, he can only imagine how she would act if she could see the inner thoughts of the younger man, how visibly broken he still is by everything, Van Dam's leaving him high and dry only furthering what damage Del Rio's actions had caused him.

She spends very little time in his presence that night and the next day, easily finding ways to keep busy in rooms that he's not in, and finally he grows weary of his own home, the silence echoing back to him mockingly. He goes outside early Wednesday afternoon, staring around at the grounds. Even out here, every inch of the patio, his outdoor furniture, the pond, the hammock, everything holds memories of his best friend, adding to his inner turmoil. Barbecues the two of them had held, bonfires when Ricardo had convinced him to give the oldfashioned way a try, or even just sitting around with the younger man, watching for meteor showers or planets orbiting close to the earth. Sitting by the pond on horribly muggy days, dipping their feet in the cool water, or laying in amongst Sofia's flowers, talking lowly in Spanish to each other, anything else that they could fit into their limited time off.

Ricardo had been such an ingrained part of Del Rio's life, it still hasn't fully registered with him that this is how things will permanently be from here on, the loneliness and solitude of it all. He's still sitting on the patio, staring blankly ahead into the growing darkness, when his phone lights up. He glances towards it derisively, planning on just letting it go, when something makes him reach out for it, pulling it closer. He doubts it's anything important, probably some pointless tweet by WWE about Main Event, until he realizes: It's from Ricardo. His heart skipping a beat, the younger man not tweeting anything overly informative since that Monday night, he stares down at the words, hands trembling slightly.

Ricardo sounds more like himself in this tweet, suggesting that he should be seen as the #1 contender since he now has a victory against the World Heavyweight Champion. Alberto cringes a bit at the memory of the loss but has to smile anyway, relieved that the younger man seems better, like he's willing to move past this, despite how foreboding the ending to his last tweet had sounded. "You would be a much better one than that worthless perro Cena, for sure, mi amigo," he mumbles, resting the tip of his finger against the screen of his phone.

Somewhat comforted, he eventually stands and re-enters his house, walking towards his bedroom. He stops short, however, when he finds Ricardo's bedroom door half-open, the lights on. Peeking in the room, breathless and wide eyed, he finds Sofia inside, dusting the furniture and, just before leaving, smoothing out the long untouched bedding. His heart in his throat, he ducks aside before she sees him and listens as she collects the things she'd cleaned with, the soft clatters sounding so familiar as she hesitates at the foot of the bed, looking around at her diligent work. "I miss you, senor," she whispers, voice cracking. "I hope you are doing alright, wherever you're at right now."

He shudders through another stab of guilt and rushes into his bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him before he sinks onto his bed, digging his fingers into his scalp. "Ay, Sofia," he breathes, reflecting on the similar looks of pain and betrayal in both her and Ricardo's eyes that he's seen all too often the past few weeks, shaking his head. "I am so sorry..."

Ricardo isn't at Smackdown, not that Alberto had expected him to be after Monday. As he watches the Raw recap of his and Vickie's meeting, and his match against Ricardo- which thankfully cuts off before the beatdown, sparing Alberto from having to rewatch the very period of time he'd been reliving relentlessly the last few days, he grows more annoyed with her and her decisions- first to put Ricardo in the ring against him again, _and_ putting him in this match against Cena.

With Ricardo nowhere to be seen, he doesn't want to add to the man's turmoil by mentioning him in case he's watching, so when he interrupts Vickie, he keeps it to business, as simple as possible and, after trying to charm her further, implores her to reconsider his match against Cena. However, she turns things around on him by urging him to kiss her and, after he does so, twice, perplexing him at what exactly she intends to prove by all of this, she perplexes him further when she begins insulting him. His ire rises all over again as she tells him she won't reconsider, his glower only growing when Sandow interrupts and tells Vickie that he finds her truly intelligent, whereas Del Rio is just using her.

Vickie falls for it and places them in a match later that evening, once more laughing as she leaves the ring, Alberto glaring back and forth between them before lunging at Sandow, attacking him- but the so-called scholar gets the upperhand and sends him scrambling out of the ring, huffing in annoyance as Damien begs him to return to the ring.

He's still steaming in his locker room, trying to prepare for this unexpected match, Smackdown playing quietly from a monitor in the corner, when something causes him to look up. Those Los Matadores are coming out to the ring and... their opponents are two other men in masks, Alberto sneering derisively at _more_ Latinos trying and failing to do what only he, the Mexican aristocrat, can accomplish successfully in this business. But something draws him to the screen, one of the _Los Locales_ men perplexing him as he watches him adjust his tag partner's mask.

He's not one to pay attention to other people's matches, unless they're future opponents of his and he's looking for some weakness to exploit, but this one he watches from beginning to end, brows furrowed as he absentmindedly wraps tape around his wrists for his upcoming match. The _Los Locales_ lose, the man who had attracted his attention eating the pin before his tag partner takes further attacks from the Los Matadores and their bizarre little bull. Alberto shrugs and shuts the monitor off, collecting his title and looking himself over quickly before leaving the room. After a divas match, his match against Sandow will begin and-

His thoughts come to an abrupt stop when he collides with someone, hissing in annoyance. "Watch where you're going, perro-" he's just exclaimed when he pauses, finding that it's none other than that man the announcers had deemed _Los Locales Uno _that he's just run into, his tag partner next to him. He's unable to see the man's eyes, his mask having sheer eye covers, and it annoys Del Rio all the more, his curiosity growing with each second.

However, before he can say or do anything, the other man speaks up from behind his mask, _his_ eyes visible, as he grips the sleeve of his partner's wrestling gear. "Eh, lo siento," he offers stiffly, as if unaccustomed to speaking the language, before dragging the speechless luchador away from the World Heavyweight Champion.

Alberto blinks a time or two, turning to look over his shoulder at the retreating men, shaking his head. "Neh, rookies," he sneers, though he's still unsettled by the whole situation, despite not knowing why...

Finally forcing himself back to the here and now, what truly matters, he goes out to the ring as soon as the divas match ends. He holds no affection for the Money in the Bank briefcase- first, his destiny had been delayed, forcing him to become Money in the Bank holder himself, and even when he had cashed it in, it had been for the WWE title- a belt he'd held no honest interest in, his focus always on the World Title from moment one of his joining the WWE... Not to mention his reign as champion had been little to talk about, the drama behind CM Punk, Cena and all of that nonsense unfolding at the time quickly taking him away from that particular endeavor, though he hadn't minded.

Then, after almost a year of desperately scraping to become World Heavyweight Champion, he'd just successfully defended it at Wrestlemania when Ziggler had cashed in his own briefcase the next night and led them down this road, when Alberto had slowly turned on the fans, on _Ricardo_, on pretty much everything, leaving him with nothing _but _the belt to focus on. The very thought of possibly losing it again, to another Money in the Bank holder, leaves him on edge, wanting nothing more than to do away with the whole Money in the Bank stipulations. But he can't, not now... and so he has to bide his time, watch carefully, make sure that Sandow doesn't get the upperhand in this match and get any ideas to do with his briefcase.

Alberto's worries, as it turns out, are thankfully baseless, for this night anyhow. Though Sandow puts up a hell of a fight, the Mexican aristocrat walks out victorious, more aware now of what to watch out for from his future opponent, whenever he should decide to cash in that damnable briefcase.

Not that he truly needs it admittedly, but it helps his confidence level. He now _knows _he can defeat Sandow. He smirks before walking back up the ramp to his lonely, empty locker room.


	11. Chapter 11

After a long, quiet weekend, Alberto travels to St. Louis for that week's Raw. He has no match announced, yet, but he hangs around anyway. Mike is there, he knows he has a rematch against Orton, so he keeps an eye out for Ricardo but it's clear early on that the younger man isn't there again- which, Del Rio comes to find, is probably just as well. Alex Riley isn't there either, so he assumes that they're together. On top of that, The Wyatts seem to have it out for Miz, and the last thing Alberto wants is the ring announcer somehow caught up in _that_ disturbing drama. But more frustrating than that, the odd silence from the trainers regarding Ricardo's condition continues. After Swagger had broken his ankle, and even after Alberto had initially attacked him, there had been _some_ inkling of what was going on with him spreading through the locker room, trainers unable to keep their mouths shut.

But now...nothing. He doesn't understand it. He takes a breath and stares at his title, grimacing as he watches the show carry on. HHH is out, talking about Daniel Bryan and Big Show and everything else that hasn't really mattered that much to Del Rio since RVD had left, taking himself- and Ricardo- out of the whole mess involving Daniel Bryan in one fell swoop. Needing a distraction, Alberto makes his way to gorilla, arriving just as the man himself interrupts HHH to chant YES! with the crowd over and over again. He sneers, watching for a few moments, before he makes his decision and runs out, taking the other man out and gleefully beating him up. There had been tension between them for awhile now, partially because of their dueling YES! and SI! chants, so he has no qualms with kicking his face off.

When it causes HHH to announce he has a match against Bryan later that night, he feels relief at the chance of further distraction. Unfortunately, it still leaves him with close to an hour to waste, which he spends in his locker room, staring blankly at the TV as matches and segments passes by, failing fantastically at keeping his attention. "Ay," he grouses, leaning his head back against the couch and staring up at the ceiling. He's never done well with frustration or boredom, and to mix the two of them... He sighs and fingers his phone, wishing someone relevant to him would tweet or text or _something..._ But Sofia hasn't texted him in weeks, and of course, Ricardo had probably deleted his number ages ago.

He closes his eyes and remembers the look on Ricardo's face the week prior- the joy turning into sharp fear as Del Rio had run around and clipped his feet out from under him, sending him crashing into the table below. Not to mention the pain in Sofia's when he'd seen her on Tuesday. He takes a breath and leans forward, scraping his fingers through his hair as the steady weight of his title belt on his knees does little to comfort him. It had been different with Ricardo, Alberto enjoying sharing his first World title reign with the younger man. Now it, like many other things, feels empty, meaningless. No one can defeat him, there's little challenge behind his championship reign, and he's never felt less fulfilled.

His displeasure only grows when his match against Daniel Bryan is cut short when Orton interrupts, cornering Bryan's fiancee in the trainer's office, locking himself inside as she and her twin sister scream for help. He tries to take advantage, keep Daniel in place long enough to eak out a victory, but Daniel is equally as determined to leave, and he knocks Del Rio down, quickly running to save the girl. Alberto hisses and glares on as the match ends in a countout victory in his favor, however annoyed he is at the prospect of having once more to return to his empty locker room after such a relatively cheap conclusion. "Maldita sea," he grouses, grabbing his title belt and storming off with it.

He _is_ looking forward to the Mexico tour that starts that week, but when he lands in his home country and looks around, a proud smirk on his face, it fades quickly as he takes it all in. This, here, too, feels empty, all but meaningless. He groans lowly, realizing that his decision two months ago is also now affecting even this: he and Ricardo had explored many of the Mexican cities they had visited during the last WWE tour together, the younger man as pleased as he was to be home, amongst the Latino community, their people... But now, same as his own home, everywhere he looks reminds him of that, causes him to miss his best friend all the more.

Despite it being his home country as well, Ricardo hadn't come on the tour and this disturbs Alberto even more, to think that he had hurt the other man- either physically or emotionally- so thoroughly that he had had to skip this trip, which had been something he'd looked forward to as well every time in the past, no matter what. He sighs and shakes his head, continuing on to the vehicle that will take him to the hotel to drop his things off before the media events and everything else begins.

Alberto Del Rio was always the kind to scoff at depression and such things, but now, he finds that he understands it a bit more, unable to think of any other way to describe how he's feeling... but he knows he can't truly complain, as he's sure Ricardo has felt much worse the past few months, thanks to him. _This is what I deserve, I suppose._

Smackdown that Friday, he has little to do, no scheduled matches listed for him again. He purposely avoids Vickie, not wanting a repeat of the week prior. When a tech tells him he merely has an interview later on with Josh Mathews, he relaxes. _That_ he can do. But it still leaves him with too much free time, wandering around the building. He'd caught another glimpse of Miz after his tag match, near enough to one of the many monitors backstage to overhear what Bray had said, and even Del Rio feels unease at the threat from the man about taking away everything from Mike, yet again somewhat relieved that there's still no sign of Ricardo tonight, Mike's focus solely on AJ Lee.

He sighs and returns to his locker room, snagging the Mexican flag he'd started requesting being put in his personal locker room at each arena, along with the mini-flags on the turnbuckles for his matches. As he makes his way to the ring, he waves it back and forth and begins talking about his Mexican pride, the Cena return promo that is played adding to his aggravation as he stares up at the titantron. Subject turning then to Cena's ego, and what Del Rio plans on doing to him the following Sunday, an impulse comes over him to show what he wants to do to the former WWE champion come Hell in a Cell and he grabs Mathews, twisting him into the armbar, pulling back on his arm until he grows bored of the man's pathetic struggles.

He laughs as he releases him, gripping his world title as he walks backstage and catches a replay on the monitor, his amusement stopping short as he hears Cole repeatedly complaining about him targetting a mere announcer, his eyes flickering back and forth between the monitor and the curtains behind him as he weighs those words, his actions. _Ricardo,_ he thinks, closing his eyes against the abrupt flash of painful memories from the past few weeks. Sighing heavily, he walks quickly back to his locker room, wanting to avoid any other comments or judgmental gazes.

The now-ignored TV drones on as Alex Riley looks over sympathetically at his roommate, Ricardo Rodriguez' dark eyes locked on the screen. Just moments ago, they'd watched painfully quietly as Alberto Del Rio had locked the armbar in on Josh Mathews, uncaring that he was just an commentator, and hadn't wrestled seriously in years. "Are you ok, man?" he asks softly, muting the TV automatically.

Ricardo looks at him for a moment before standing, Alex careful not to say anything as he notices just how badly the man's hands are shaking at his side. "I'm fine," he mumbles. "I'm tired though, so I'm going to bed. Buenas noches."

Eyes dark with worry, A-Ri leans forward and watches him head for the hallway leading to the bedrooms. "Good night," he murmurs halfheartedly, sighing as he glances at the TV, frustrated. Shaking his head, he turns it off and releases a deep breath, pondering texting Mike to let him know that Ricardo's having another rough night...but no, he's sure his friend has enough on his plate currently, considering what Wyatt had said. "I'll let him know tomorrow," he decides, resting his head against the back of the couch and staring at his wall upside down.

He gives it close to half an hour before making it to his feet wearily and wandering towards his own room, hesitating outside of Ricardo's. He's unsurprised to find the room dark and quiet, but his door is only partially closed, allowing Alex just enough space to peek inside, where the ring announcer is laying in bed, his breaths soft and even, though they hitch every few minutes, Alex's heart hurting for him. He can only imagine how he must be feeling, after everything, to see his former friend do to another non-wrestler things similar to what he'd done to him.

Shaking his head tiredly, Alex turns slowly and turns back to his own bedroom, wanting nothing more than to take some painkillers for his shoulder and leave all worry and pain for his friends behind for a few hours.

Alberto sighs as he enters his house. He has little time to fully relax before needing to travel on to Raw, but still a few hours at home is better than none, and so he takes it. The interior is quiet, somber. He can hear Sofia in the kitchen, and for a wild moment, he feels anger at her for not coming to greet him as she's done typically since he'd hired her all those years prior. But his anger is soon replaced by weary acceptance, understanding why. He had lost her respect, he had lost his own respect, and he's unsure how to fix it. If he _can_ fix it, or would even want to, truly.

Carrying his bag to his room, he drops it carelessly at the bottom of his bed and sits down on the mattress, grimacing. Attacking Mathews, much like attacking Ricardo every time, had initially seemed like an acceptable action to take, but with time to think it over, he'd come to regret it each time: Not that he cared either way about Mathews, but it had been so similar to what he'd done to Ricardo, adding to his self-loathing. _Why do I find myself stuck in these situations so often?_ he thinks grimly, scrubbing at his weary eyes.

Figuring he probably has time for a nap before supper, he drops back and closes his eyes, not even minding that he's above the sheets or not even completely on the bed, his feet pressed to the floor as he immediately dozes off into a restless sleep. It only seems to last a minute and an hour all at once as the murky darkness, full of discomfort and hazy whispers that he can't quite catch, disappears in a rush, leaving him confused and a little frightened, breathing heavily.

"Senor," Sofia says, her voice tense as she stares down at him, dark eyes so full of fear that it reminds him yet again of that night, two and a half months ago, when he'd first attacked Ricardo. He blinks at her before realizing that he has a tight grip on her wrist, letting go of her as if her skin had burnt him. She stares at him, perplexed, as she holds her arm close to her chest, swallowing thickly. "Senor."

"What are you doing in here?" he snaps at her, back turned to her as he stares down at his hands, trying to grasp what he'd been dreaming, what it had almost caused him to do.

"Your meal is ready," she says weakly, backing away carefully. "Whenever you're ready." As she escapes the room quickly, he stares at his reflection in the mirror across from his bed and closes his eyes, shaking his head in disgust with himself.

"No," he mumbles, beyond tired of all of this. Struggling past the sleepiness to stand, he follows her. "Sofia, wait!" She stops short at the entrance to the kitchen and he stares at her back before glancing over his shoulder at the still closed door to Ricardo's bedroom, closing his eyes as the last of his determination to keep all of this to himself shatters away. "I never wanted any of this..."

She turns slowly towards him, her maternal side not allowing her to ignore his audible pain. "What, senor?" she asks lowly, watching as he stares at her, eyes dark and gleaming with sadness.

"Any of this," he forces out through grit teeth, his strength fading as he sinks to the floor, digging his fingers into the soft threads of the carpetting. "All of it. I can't... I..." She hesitantly walks back towards him and he reaches out for her, needing some sort of human contact after forcing himself to be so lonely and broken the long, horrible eleven weeks that it'd been since betraying his best friend so cruelly. She kneels down in front of him and takes his hand, staring into his eyes with her usual compassionate gaze, and he feels his resolve break into little pieces, the story- all of it- pouring out of him for the first time since this whole madness had begun.

From the moment Ricardo had been suspended, to Alberto's painful realization that his ring announcer was so thoroughly miserable, to the decision he'd made to free him, and every consequential action he'd had to take since that moment to hold it all together, keep Ricardo away from what had ultimately led him down this path, no matter how much it had killed him. How much second guessing he'd done since last week's Raw. "I don't know what to do," he admits lowly, embracing his rare moment of vulnerability in front of the only other person in the world outside of Ricardo who he would trust with such things. "I've made such a mess of things."

She says very little, merely holding him close as he trembles against her. "Senor," she breathes against his hair, letting him slowly calm down after the painful recollection of everything that had happened, what she hadn't understood until this moment. "Lo siento, I... didn't see any of this, I should've known you wouldn't just..." She swallows and runs her fingers through his short hair, shaking her head sadly. "Oh, senor..."

"I didn't want you to know," he whispers. "I didn't want Ricardo to know, either, but I slipped while injured and he learned too much... suspected too much. But I tried to fix it, and I think I took it too far, and he hasn't been to any of the WWE events all week." She sighs and holds him closer, whispering to him softly in Spanish until finally he finds the strength to pull away from her, force himself to stand. As she looks up at him, a bit startled at the abruptness of it all, he reaches out for her. "Come," he says quietly. "There's no reason your hard work should go to waste because of my weakness."

There are a great many things she wants to say to this but, upon taking one look into his eyes, watching as he struggles to regain control of himself, she decides to allow him that much and rests her hand in his, allowing him to help her stand. "Gracias, senor," she says quietly, brushing her clothes off before walking to the kitchen to serve him. Once done, she joins him in the dining room and places the dishes in front of him, smiling warmly at him for the first time in weeks. "Enjoy, senor," she says quietly, turning back towards the kitchen to clean up a bit more before eating her own meal.

She's not even taken a step when he reaches out and catches her wrist once more. Turning to look at him, she blinks as he smiles wanly up at her. "Sofia, would you please... join me?" She stares at him in surprise but there's no mocking in his gaze, merely sincerity. "Por favor? The kitchen isn't going anywhere. Eat with me."

Her face softens as she nods slowly, venturing into the kitchen to collect her plate. It's awkward, sitting here with him for the first time, but she does it- careful to avoid Ricardo's chair, sitting across the table from it and sheepishly placing silverware on a napkin for herself. She _had_ ate at this table a few times in the past, when Ricardo was at the house, either recovering or during his suspension, lonely and in need of company, so she's not completely out of her element, but sharing it with her employer is something altogether different, and she can understand why Ricardo himself had seemed so anxious at times- no matter how close one is to Alberto, there's always a lurking undercurrent of fear of doing or saying something wrong and infuriating the Mexican aristocrat, ruining everything for the foreseeable future.

But he seems cowed right now, trapped in his own thoughts, so it's a mostly silent meal that passes between them, the few times Alberto does acknowledge her, his voice faint and gaze distant, leaving her aching all the more for him and the ring announcer.


	12. Chapter 12

Alberto is exhausted, worn. He stares vacantly at his World title and shakes his head, the usual thrumming in his veins to compete, prove himself again, missing for the first time that he can remember. He swallows and looks up when there's a soft knock at his door. "Come in, Sofia," he says quietly, watching as the door slowly creaks open, his housekeeper glancing in at him with a wary smile. Though he'd confessed all to her and she'd been much warmer to him since, he can tell things are going to be awkward between them for awhile. Perhaps because she's not used to it just being them, trying to make things work without Ricardo's stabilizing presence easing his at times volatile temper.

"Don't you need to leave for Raw shortly, senor?" she asks. "Your flight should be leaving in the next..."

"I canceled it," he tells her, standing from his bed and laying the title reverently on his dresser. "I am not in the mood to be present at Raw tonight. Without Cena there, what is the point? More pointless matches, after I have already shown my intentions on Smackdown..." His voice dies away when he realizes the hesitation in her gaze at just how callously he's talking about what he had done to the announcer. He winces and turns to face her. "I will perhaps feel more like flying out for Smackdown, but... it has been a long week and I merely want to remain here, regain my bearings."

She stares at him and nods slowly, remembering the look in his eye the night before as he'd collapsed at her feet and confessed all of his faulty attempts at freeing Ricardo from this life. "Of course, senor. I understand." She smiles faintly. "What do you want for lunch, then?"

Alex and Ricardo sit once more in their apartment, Alex digging away at a pumpkin one-handed while Ricardo holds it for him, the two of them only half listening to Raw as they wait for a glimpse of Mike, almost dreading what exactly the Wyatts will bring his way this time. His grip on the tool provided by the pumpkin carving kit slips, nearly ruining his so far careful work, when they both tense up as a retrospective clip of Del Rio airs, Ricardo's back thankfully to it as Alex takes in how it includes clips of the numerous beatdowns Del Rio had provided to him over the last few months, his lips twisting unhappily.

Ricardo can tell what was shown without even watching, based just by the look on his roommate's face and, abandoning the pumpkin, he takes a breath, fumbling around for his phone. As he types something up, he looks over at Alex. "When did your doctor say you could begin rehabbing your shoulder?"

A-Ri blinks in surprise, glancing over at his bandaged arm. "Uh, in the next couple of weeks. Staff at the performance center are gonna handle it, so I can get cleared to wrestle sooner. Why?"

Ricardo looks somewhat pleased with this answer as he presses the _send_ button on his phone, Alex's phone lighting up a few moments later. "I want to come with you. I want... to learn more. I want to... wrestle." He'd had a few matches in the past, yes, but considering how Del Rio had betrayed him, and Rob had left, he thinks perhaps honing his craft, losing the rust the last few years had provided him since leaving California would help him in the long run to be more independent, able to hold his own in the ruthless business.

Alex blinks, reading over his tweet a time or two before nodding slowly, lips twitching. "Sure, man. That... sounds like a plan," he says, imagining the younger man competing on his own. "Heck, I know what you're capable of," he smirks, remembering being dropkicked clear out of the ring by him years back, the first sign of ability he'd really shown in actual wrestling. He looks forward to seeing what all the man can accomplish on his own.

Alberto stares out over his yard from a window, frowning in displeasure. He'd wanted to perhaps go out, distract himself from everything going on, but it had chose today to rain... of course... He rests his forehead against the glass and grimaces, wishing it would stop and the sun could come out so he could leave the quiet of the house for awhile, still not quite used to how... empty the house is without Ricardo's presence.

Finally bored of watching the rain pelting the windows, he pulls away and tugs his phone out, idly going through his twitter timeline. Nothing fascinates him until... his eyes fall upon Ricardo's twitter handle and he swallows, reading the tweets from the younger man about going to the Performance Center in Orlando to 'learn how to wrestle', Del Rio remembering how it had felt when he'd come from Mexico and had to learn a more American style of competition. Though he had hated it, it had been beneficial, helped him grow as a competitor. He blinks a few times, recalling the things he'd helped Ricardo learn during their time together, lips twitching. _I suppose this way he could truly make a name for himself, and not depend on clients to have a place in the WWE. After what Van Dam did... not to mention myself... _ he thinks, running a finger across the screen thoughtfully. _Which is all I wanted for him from the beginning of this whole mess. Amigo, I hope it goes well for you. I have no doubt you'll give it your all, as you do everything._

The rest of Wednesday passes quietly, Alberto finally forcing himself to concentrate on his match against Cena, watching as many of his opponent's matches as he can stand to prepare for Hell in a Cell until he falls asleep, unable to keep his eyes open any longer as the TV drones on. When he wakes up, it's morning and the sun is shining in the living room, the TV is off, and a soft blanket is wrapped around him, bringing a smile to his face as he pulls it up to his chin, early mornings becoming a bit cool even in Florida as a fall chill begins to take over the states. "Sofia," he mumbles, relieved that the housekeeper is on his side once more.

Sitting up, he runs his fingers through his hair and stares ahead blankly, wondering what to do today while still pondering traveling out for Smackdown the following night. After missing Raw, he's pretty sure he will, even if it's just to address the crowd and get in one last insult towards Cena before the pay per view, but it still leaves him with hours to fill and not much to do... Getting an idea, he quickly stands and walks towards his bedroom to prepare for the day.

Alex watches from ringside, his good arm resting against the apron with his recently surgically repaired arm held at his side protectively. Inside the ring, Ricardo is working with one of the head trainers of NXT, listening to the man's instructions intently before successfully snapping off a headlock takeover after a couple of tries, his face immediately lighting up once his own achievement clicks with him. "I did it!" he exclaims, looking out at Alex.

"That's great, man!" he grins, relieved to see his roommate looking so pleased, and gaining just a little bit of self-confidence with what he's slowly beginning to accomplish on his own. The trainer makes him try it a time or two more before announcing that Ricardo had done enough for one day, urging him to go shower, relax, and come back tomorrow. Alex follows him backstage, listening as he talks on excitedly about how he'd like to learn a moonsault soon, rubbing the shorter man's neck carefully, well aware of his many issues over the years that had been aggravated a little bit with all of the training he'd done the past few days. After a moment, something nearby catches his eyes and he swallows, frowning. "Um, Ricardo?"

"Si?" the former ring announcer asks, blinking as he turns to look at him. "What is it, Alex?"

"What's that?" he mumbles uncertainly, unable to look away from the dark and vaguely familiar thing laying on a nearby table. Ricardo follows his line of sight and swallows harshly, recognizing it also. "Ricardo-"

He shakes his head, brushing past him as he walks over to the item and pulls it from the wood, staring down at it. "It... it's... It's one of Alberto's scarves," he whispers plaintively, frowning down at it. "But why... why is it here..." He looks up uncertainly and shakes his head. "Alberto was here... watching?" Alex has no reasonable explanation for the older man's actions, holding his breath as he walks over to Ricardo, staring down at the scarf quietly. "He makes no sense," he mutters. "Admittedly, he was at times confusing even when I worked for him, but since... since he did... that, it's grown even worse. It's like he can't make up his mind whether he wants to help me or work against me, and he claims this all was to _protect_ me." Leaning against the table, his hands still wrapped up in his former employer's scarf, he closes his eyes and shakes his head, lifting it hesitantly before pressing it to his face, its softness soothing against his skin as he smells the soap that Sofia prefers mixed in with the lingering scent of Alberto's aftershave.

Alex takes a breath before standing next to him, arm to arm. "Didn't he give you one of those scarves before? When you were about to compete against Big Show?"

Ricardo's eyes gleam at the memory before he shakes his head. "He did, si, but when I failed to uphold my promise to him to defeat the Big Show, I gave the scarf back to him because... I did not feel worthy of it." His voice grows distant as he stares again at the scarf, lips trembling faintly. "He told me then... when I _did_ feel worthy of it, he would return it to me."

Alex watches him for a long moment, the pieces slowly falling into place as he expects he now understands why the scarf is here, now. He glances back out towards the ring, smiling slightly. _I suppose Del Rio was staying true to his word..._ "Do you feel worthy of it now, Ricardo?" The younger man doesn't say anything for a few minutes, letting the question hang in the air between them until Alex finally gives up on waiting for an answer, his hand slowly returning to Ricardo's neck, where he squeezes gently. "C'mon, man, let's go home. It's been a long morning."

That night, Alex is preparing for bed when he stops in front of Ricardo's bedroom, taking a deep breath. The door is open a little and he peeks inside, finding that the man's facing the door, fast asleep on his bed, a lamp shining across from him. Alex pushes the door open further, relieved when it doesn't squeak or pop, slipping inside as quietly as possible, relieved that the carpet is at least thick enough to cushion his steps. He pads softly over to the lamp and is about to flick it off so his friend can continue to sleep in peace when he pauses almost violently, his eyes falling on the surface of the table the lamp is on, swallowing harshly.

Alberto's scarf, folded carefully, lays there, Ricardo's red, white and green bowtie that Mike and Alex had packed for him atop it. Although almost three months had passed since everything had gone down, Ricardo had only unpacked a few things, Alex well aware based on how bare and impersonal the room remains. He tries not to mention it, understanding on some level that the man is probably having issues settling in to the new place... Not to mention even trusting in the length of his stay after all of the changes he's gone through professionally and personally in the last few months. Seeing just this bit of progress makes Alex feel a little better, glancing over his shoulder at his roommate with a faint smile before he reaches up and finally turns the lamp off. "Good night, Ricardo," he whispers before leaving the room, careful to make sure the door is still open a crack since that's how Ricardo seems to like it.


	13. Chapter 13

Alberto sighs tiredly as he stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom, resting his hands on the World title. No matter how confident he may appear, deep down inside he's aware that Sunday may not end well for him. He's alone, facing Cena, someone who he'd struggled against many times in the past. But now his title's on the line and he can't stand thinking of losing something else, giving him even less to hold onto to keep it together in this business. Yes, he had seen Ricardo at the performance center and it seemed like the plan he had put into motion nearly three months ago now was finally going in a positive direction, the younger man working hard to better himself in the ring. It had even inspired him to leave his scarf behind for his former ring announcer, remembering the promise he'd made him almost a year ago, but he wishes that he could do more to help him, make the long road in getting a true foothold in the business easier.

After a long, tense weekend, most of it spent in the basement of his house, where he has a custom gym, trying to prepare in every way possible for his match against Cena where he doesn't come close to working all of his frustration out before he has to leave, he arrives at the Miami arena and stares up at it, remembering months ago, winning the World title here in the first place to avenge Ricardo when the Big Show wouldn't leave him alone, partially thanks to the general manager's incompetence. It feels like it's been more than a decade ago, forget barely being a year ago... so much has changed since then. He wanders the halls, remembering that night, declaring himself and Ricardo the World Heavyweight Champions, and releases a shaky breath, certain that, wherever he may be tonight, his former ring announcer is probably also recalling it, though he doubts as fondly as he himself is in this moment.

Less than ten minutes later, his thoughts are confirmed, his steps slowing to a stop as he stares at his phone, another tweet alert from Ricardo... reflecting, same as he had been, on how Del Rio had won the title here, and questioning if perhaps he'd lose it here as well. His hands tighten around the phone, pain in his eyes as he stares at it, shaking his head grimly. He knows that a part of Ricardo may be wishing for it, and he understands on some level that he probably deserves as much, but it still hurts to think about. And it only gets worse when his match against Cena starts. He tries to fight, he does, but even with his determination to focus on the man's arm, and the level of success he achieves doing this, it doesn't change the end result. STF twisted around into the armbar just to be reversed into the Attitude Adjustment and it's all over, Del Rio's title reign slipping through his fingers as Cena wins the match and the championship.

Alberto walks numbly up the ramp, through the back, to his locker room- which, he realizes blankly, isn't his locker room anymore, his automatic access to a personal locker room disappearing along with his title and everything else. Changes into street clothes and collects his things in a fog, leaves the building and stares dully at his car for a long moment before turning sharply on his heel and walking down the street. He doesn't remember walking the whole way back to his house, nor entering the security code to open the gate, or trudging up the long, curving driveway to his front door.

He does, however, blink back to awareness when the door is pulled open before he can finish unlocking it, Sofia staring at him from the doorway. "Senor!" she cries out, troubled. "Did you... walk here?" She reaches out for him and drags him into the house, gaping. "You're freezing!" She rubs his arms through his dress shirt worriedly, staring up into his dark, lifeless eyes. "Senor, where is your car?"

"I left it," he mumbles as she draws him into the living room, leading him to the couch. She suspects that it's a good thing, considering how out of it he appears, but still... Bustling around, she finds a blanket and wraps it around his shoulders, trying to warm him back up. Not that it's bitterly cold outside, considering it's Florida, but still, it gets chilly enough at night, partially due to the proximity to the ocean.

She's more worried that he seems unaware of just how cold he had gotten. "Senor, you should've called me, I would've come and..." He shakes his head against her and she falls silent, holding him closer. "Never mind," she breathes against him, still trying to work the chill out of his skin. "It's ok, you're safe." She had been watching as he'd lost, knowing immediately that this wasn't going to end well. "Come, come." Pulling him once more to his feet, she leads him into the bathroom and prepares a warm shower for him, knowing that that'll be the best way to warm him back up, help him to hopefully relax and get rid of whatever soreness the match and that walk had caused him before settling him into bed for the night.

Standing outside of the room, listening to the water running behind her, she sorts quietly through his things and hears when his phone beeps a missed text alert, digging it slowly out of his pocket. Not intending on invading his privacy, she carefully presses a couple of buttons, trying to keep it from making noise and disturb him once she does get him to rest. She gasps softly when Alberto's missed alerts pop up and she realizes that it's a text from twitter... from what has to be Ricardo's account, the younger man thanking Cena and congratulating him. Her eyes fill with tears as she glances behind her at the door, pondering what Alberto would think if he should read this. Tempted to delete it, spare him from this at least tonight, her fingers hesitate over the menu options.

Closing her eyes, she presses the button, watching as the phone flashes the words _message deleted_. Poking it back into the folds of his shirt, she turns as it falls silent in the bathroom and moves to help him, her heart heavy.

Early the next afternoon, Alberto traces the beach quietly, staring out at the ocean as it laps against the sand. When he had woke up, nothing had felt the same, muted and bland, empty. He barely remembers the night before from that moment after his shoulders had been pinned to the mat, though his body is sore enough to prove that what he _does_ remember is true- leaving his car behind and walking all the way home, allowing Sofia to take control of everything like Ricardo used to after an event when he was just too overwhelmed or exhausted to care about his own well-being, like after when Ziggler had cashed in, or any of his various losses to Sheamus or Orton or...

He closes his eyes. Sofia had been busy the night before, it seems, not wanting his car to be towed but also unable to leave him in such a state. Best he could piece together, she had called one of the WWE techs and convinced them to drive it back, paying them some unknown amount to recompense them. He smiles wryly, remembering the look in her eyes as she explained to him how his car had gotten back home safely. "_You've been hanging around me too long, Sofia."_

_"I learned from the best, is all, Senor."_

He shakes his head, sighing tiredly. _I am far from the best, Sofia. That is evident... _He also suspects that she did something she couldn't quite bring herself to admit to, realizing as soon as he'd gone to Ricardo's twitter profile that morning, as he had every day since August 5th, that a tweet from him had been missing from his phone. A glitch on Twitter's end, yes perhaps, it wouldn't be the first tweet not sent to his phone, which is why he had begun going to his profile like this in the first place, but he just has a feeling. Either way, he can't be mad at the housekeeper, aware she was just scared due to the state he was in the night before and trying to help him. And he can't be completely mad at Ricardo either, understanding how he feels and suspecting he would feel the same if he'd been in the younger man's shoes. Despite feeling betrayed at Ricardo congratulating and thanking one of his most annoying rivals, he knows that Ricardo's own degrees of betrayal goes much deeper than Alberto's, it being his actions and plans that had inspired all of this after all.

He's so trapped in his own thoughts and hazy memories that he doesn't look away from the crystal blue ocean until he notices movement behind him, turning sharply as though expecting an attack. The beach is all but abandoned at this hour, and he had thought he was alone, but... no. Even worse, he recognizes the people sitting higher up the sand, squinting towards Alex Riley and Ricardo before his brain catches up with the rest of him and he turns back around, not wanting to be spotted. After a moment he glances over his shoulder, realizing that Alex had gotten up and is walking towards where a line of cars are parked, leaving Ricardo behind.

Alberto blinks and looks at where his friend is sprawled out on a towel, not moving as Riley walks away from him. Every instinct in Del Rio tells him just to go, leave all of this behind and not risk frightening the younger man should he be spotted, but the longer he stays there, the more he realizes Ricardo is still and quiet, as if... Before he can stop himself, he walks the feet that had separated them and swallows, finding the ring announcer fast asleep, more than likely lulled by the sounds of the ocean and the steady warmth of the sun. Things that had always successfully soothed him in the past. He watches him for a moment before noticing a partially melted ice pack on his arm, Del Rio frowning down at it curiously as he kneels down next to him, hesitantly reaching out for the pack and easing it off of his flesh so he can look. "What's this, mi amigo?"

But he can tell as soon as the pack is gone- the younger man's skin is red from the ice, yes, but swelling and inflammation around his elbow is visible and Alberto closes his eyes, recognizing some of the damage his armbar can cause. "Ay, Ricardo," he grunts, shaking his head. He glances at him, finding him still asleep, though his brows are beginning to furrow. "I imagine your training has exacerbated what I did to you weeks back? Lo siento, mi amigo... I never intended on hindering your goals like this..."

One thing that Alberto had decided upon over the many years he'd been competing was if he was going to learn how to completely destroy something, he should also take the time to learn how to repair it... and so he had watched trainers, listened as they explained the right ways to manipulate the ligaments and muscles in arms, how to implement massage and numerous other techniques to ease pain and discomfort in the joints. He hadn't used this knowledge in years, having no need to, but he calls back on it now, glancing over at his best friend as he slowly begins running his hand over the other man's elbow, carefully searching out various problem areas, closing his eyes as he focuses on what he's doing, listening to Ricardo's breaths. "I never took the time to learn how to do this sort of thing during all of your neck injuries... or for your ankle... and I regret that now," he tells him. "And I may not know how, if it's at all possible, to repair our friendship without risking what I want for you, but I can do this much for you. I hope it helps, mi amigo."

He continues to work, careful not to wake him up, until the sound of a car door slamming echoes down the beach. He quickly recoils and picks the ice pack up, dusting sand off of it before replacing it on Ricardo's elbow. He turns fretful eyes to the younger man, relieved to find that he'd slept through all of that, before scrambling to his feet. "You'll be alright, mi amigo. Continue training and getting stronger, everything will work out for you, I have no doubt." All too aware of how time is slipping through his fingers, he walks quickly down the beach and finds a towering pile of rocks, stepping behind it and taking a breath as Alex rejoins Ricardo, resting a hand on his arm and lightly shaking him awake.

He can just hear from this distance as the ring announcer stirs and groans, looking around. "Alex?"

"Hey, man, I went to get some stuff from the car, since neither of us felt like carrying the cooler all the way down here. Got a... slightly less mushy ice pack for you. Some water too. Want anything?" he asks as he removes the ice pack and places the still frozen one in place on Ricardo's elbow.

"Wait a minute," he mutters, shifting his arm. "It doesn't hurt like before." He blinks at it before turning to look at Alex. "It actually feels... pretty good. I guess the ibuprofen and ice finally worked?" But Alberto can see a suspicious look on his face as he gingerly rotates his arm, like he doesn't believe his own words.

Not wanting to get caught, he traces the rocks further down the beach until he feels like he can leave without getting spotted by either man. He wanders around a little longer until he glances down at his watch and realizes that, even if he leaves now, he'll be a bit late for Raw. "Not that it matters," he mumbles, heading towards his car as he reflects on having to walk into that arena empty handed and share a locker room with the others, something he had never had to do without Ricardo by his side.

He hates every second of it.

Del Rio's boredom and disquiet continues on for the next few days and on Wednesday, he finds himself sitting at home, flipping through TV channels, trying to find a way to block out the silence of his house and the buzzing between his ears, wanting not to dwell still on everything he's lost or thrown away the last few months. He comes to a sudden stop on IonTV, finding Main Event on there, that stupid Los Matadores team standing in the ring, their little bull doing whatever nonsense he does, when... the camera turns and Alberto's breath catches as he realizes their opponents are that Los Locales team yet again, watching closely as the match carries on.

There are numerous tags on either side, both teams going back and forth on exchanging offense, Del Rio only distracted somewhat when Josh mentions to Miz that he'd seen him talking to Los Locales, rolling his eyes when Mike admits that he'd understood very little of what they'd said, calling back to the four years of Spanish he'd taken in high school, it reminding Alberto all too easily how that failed venture on the commentary table had hurt Ricardo, until he had interceded and convinced him to let it go, that it wasn't worth it if that was how Mike was going to act... He shakes his head, not wanting to go back down _that_ road, all too aware that Mike's been much better to Ricardo since than Del Rio. Turning his attention back to the match, he watches as El Torito eventually gets involved and takes out Uno on the outside, leaving Dos to eat the loss as the Los Matadores celebrate, even Mike looking wary of the bull as he jumps up on the commentary desk.

Once it ends, he sighs and shuts the TV off, shaking his head at the lingering memories that Mike's comments had brought up, not helping him in forgetting even for a few minutes. He closes his eyes and releases a deep breath, leaning back against the couch as he remembers the feel of his friend's arm, still showing the lingering affects of what he'd done to him over the last month. "I hope you're feeling better, mi amigo. Happy Halloween."

After a depressingly quiet Halloween, his first one without Ricardo, who had loved the holiday and spent hours carving pumpkins or watching as many horror movies as he could fit in around their WWE schedules, Alberto makes the drive to Smackdown. He even pulls up in the arena's parking lot and stares up at the building. But that's as far as he gets. He had been avoiding doing anything that would require him to be in the main locker room with all of the other superstars, missing his personal locker room. Yes, he had been forced to spend time there in the past when even his influence and money couldn't open up a personal locker room for him, the accommodations much better the couple of months he'd been WWE champion back in 2011. And the three months he'd spent as World champion the first time, and the four months now, in that room, had been both some of the best and worst times of his career.

In the past, he would ordinarily have had Ricardo go and convince the general manager to set aside a room specially for him, designed just the way he likes it, but he's alone now and he's much too subdued and _tired_ to want to hash over yet another insignificant detail like that with Vickie Guerrero, especially after the past few weeks, his blood boiling as he remember her glee at degrading him when it came to the John Cena subject to begin with.

So, shaking his head wearily, he starts the car back up, drives out of the parking lot and turns towards the highway that will take him back to his home in Miami. He doesn't look back once.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: The full conversation (from Mike's POV) between Mike and ADR is in BtB 173. Go check it out if interested!

After a weekend spent trailing around his grounds, Alberto vows anew not to give up. He still has a rematch, he still has his career. He can do anything he wants, just because Cena is holding his title means nothing in the long run. He'll regain it. That's all that he can focus on at the moment. Especially since seeing Ricardo this past week, encouraging him that his decision months ago was the right path to take. Yes, the man is battered physically and emotionally, but he's not giving up- working through everything Alberto had put him through to learn how to compete. He had always been impressed by the ring announcer's determination, and now he wants to live up to the man's standards, be just as strong as his best friend.

But things don't go all that well on Raw. His thoughts are still scattered, his renewed focus towards Cena making everything else irrelevant- his match against Kofi goes bad from the start, Alberto almost falling to near-pins three times before locking up the man in an armbar and forcing him to tap. He seethes only harder when he makes it backstage to find everyone talking about how Kofi had had a televised entrance but he hadn't. Gritting his teeth, he glowers around at everyone before storming towards the World champion's locker room, just to stop short outside of it, the realization once more hitting him like a pair of brass knucks to the midsection. It's Cena's room now, and his is yet again delegated to the ordinary locker room.

Unable to do anything about it now, he grunts and storms back towards the room, relieved at least to find no one had touched his things while he was gone. He's about to get dressed when he hears another mention of the upcoming six man tag match coming from the monitor, roughly changing his mind about leaving so soon... After all, he might as well scope out his future opponent a little more, yes? Just see what Cena may have up his sleeves...

One thing he doesn't prepare for is having to do commentary with Zeb Colter, who is out there supporting the so-called Real Americans. He snarls as he stares at Jack Swagger, who had so cruelly broken Ricardo's ankle months back. He traces his fingers along the top of the announcer's desk, wondering how the younger man's ankle is doing now. He had been careful to not target his legs, or do much that would cause harm to his neck, but still... he had done enough that Ricardo's arm is still giving him grief now, so... he purses his lips, only vaguely paying attention to what Colter and the announcers are saying, the disgust growing within him as he finds himself actually agreeing with the xenophobic man across from him from time to time.

The amusement he feels when Cesaro is thrown into Colter is quickly drenched when Cena's team wins the match, Del Rio glowering into the ring as he leaves, it taking everything in him not to lose focus of Cena and go after Swagger, the echoing memory of Ricardo's screams still fresh in his mind, especially as it had been near the announcer's desk that Swagger had attacked Ricardo yet again not long after that, causing more damage to his ankle... bringing back horrible memories of when the ring announcer had been a teenager. Alberto shakes his head, remembering everything that the younger man had been through this year, and hating himself a little more for adding to it. _But it needed to be done,_ he thinks warily, tries to convince himself yet again.

He's just made his way to the exit, dressed completely and gripping the straps of his bag, muttering to himself, when he realizes that the area isn't as empty as he'd hoped. Miz is pacing back and forth, looking as disgusted as he's feeling, turning towards him after a moment. His eyes narrow as he remembers the last time he'd seen Mike, when he'd been left with a black eye and other bruises. Their eyes lock and Miz sneers, rolling his eyes. "Get out of my way, perro," Alberto snaps at him, in no mood to deal with him. Not tonight. He tries pushing past the other man but, before Del Rio can even blink, he feels himself being grabbed and forced into a stare-off with Mike, who truly looks _pissed._ He's not sure what's gotten into the man, but he doesn't really care, rolling his eyes as Miz mocks him about his repetitive insults.

Trying yet again to leave, Alberto pulls himself free and storms for the door, barely touching it when Mike returns, slinging him into the wall before he can even think about what to do. He gapes down at him, shocked at the speed the Awesome One had just moved at, gasping slightly as his forearm digs into his throat more. But worse than that, his knee is suspiciously close to the scar from the surgery needed to repair Del Rio's groin tear from a couple of years ago and he gasps, remembering the pain and never, ever wanting to relive it. This more than anything keeps him in place, glaring down at Mike warningly. "Let me go, perro."

But Mike refuses and instead applies more pressure as he begins to talk. He seems determined now to get answers, for Ricardo, and that whole situation. Alberto flushes as Mike slowly puts together more and more of the pieces, his eyes flashing at Alberto's reaction. He's too close to the truth, Del Rio cringing as he imagines everything he'd done slipping through his fingers just because Miz is too nosy for his own good... "I was delirious," he insists. "Speaking-"

But before he can say _nonsense_, Mike cuts in. Explains that delirium brings out the truth, no matter how much Del Rio claims otherwise. Applies more pressure to his throat, leaning in closer to him to take in the effects of his words and actions all the more. "Nor are you strong enough to completely hide how you're feeling when your best friend, the man who's been alongside you loyally for years is looking you in the eye, needing the truth. And I think you gave it to him that night and then regretted it."

Alberto stares at him for a moment before his words sink in and he slumps into himself, sure that if Mike hadn't been pinning him in place with his arm and knee that he'd have collapsed right then and there. He breathes heavily, horrified as tears fill his eyes. Not wanting to cry in front of Mike, or anyone for that matter, he snaps at him, "What does it matter, perro?! Let me go!" However he's once more ignored, Miz staring him in the eye as he begins to talk about Morrison, clearly trying to compare that situation with his and Ricardo's. Disinterested in anything to do with John Morrison, Del Rio tunes him out until...

"...he _asked_ me to do it. You decided for Ricardo what was best for him...? And you thought it had any possibility of ending well?" Del Rio is staring at him, gaze heavy and dark, when he sighs and releases him, leaning against the wall next to where he'd been so unceremoniously thrown against. Any thought he might've had about pushing himself upright yet again and, if not outright beating Mike down, then just leaving with _some_ of his dignity remaining, goes by the wayside when Mike speaks again. "You know you destroyed everything that was secure in his life in one fell swoop, right? His home, his employment, his relationship with you and Sofia both... If Alex and I hadn't been there to help pick up the pieces..."

His worst thoughts coming to life before him, he releases a shuddering breath, too horrified and sad to look up from his shoes. Shoes that Ricardo had bought him before... before... "I am aware," he forces out, burying his fingers into his eyes, welcoming the physical discomfort to block some of the emotional agony this conversation has brought him. "It is all I have been thinking about the past three months." When Mike suggests he tell Ricardo the truth, he looks over at him, about to snap at him to mind his own business, when he continues on to say something about helping the ring announcer trust again. His heart plummets when Mike explains that Ricardo hadn't unpacked most of his things since, just... in case...

He buries his face in his hands, groaning softly. "Ay, mi amigo..." A few tears drip into his hands but he quickly pulls himself back together, not wanting to fall apart any further in front of the annoying superstar still standing next to him. No matter how tempting it seems, to just tell Ricardo and have him back in his life in any capacity, he knows it can't happen. He can't be selfish, not now. "You can't tell him any of this," he refuses dully, feeling like everything's going at half-speed, his heart beating painfully slowly as he struggles to remember how to breathe normally. "None of it. It will derail his progress."

He wants to sneer at Mike's sputtering disbelief at that, until his words register with Alberto. "You broke him so thoroughly emotionally and physically and you can't even guess how bad it was because it fell on me and Alex to help him try to rebuild! It's been months, just explain to him why-"

He doesn't need to be told how hard it's been for the younger man, feeling much the same on some level himself... but Mike does have a point, Alberto still had his home and Sofia and a steady career to fall back on, Ricardo hadn't had the same luxuries. But he can't allow himself to be swayed, yelling back at Mike. "I can't _do _that, can't you see?!" he all but screams. "He spent almost three years dedicating his every waking moment to me and my career. I began this all so he could concentrate on himself for once! If I go to him and tell him that everything I've done the last few months was so he'd focus on himself, he'd start to care again, and I can't risk all of it being for nothing. He deserves the opportunity-"

Mike yells back at him, interrupting him in turn, trying to convince him that people can be friends and put business separately and Alberto's shoulders slump as he takes it all in, unable even now to see how he and Ricardo could ever possibly separate the two. They'd been employer and employee first, then friends, and he can't fully imagine their being one without the other. Especially after everything he'd done the last three months. Something about how low Del Rio is feeling must finally register with The Awesome One because he falls silent and stares at Alberto, lost in his own thoughts for long moments. When he _does_ speak again, he sounds more in control, less emotionally driven, and Del Rio is relieved, a headache beginning to throb against his temples.

Even so, all he does is suggest that Alberto could've found a different way, a better way to fire the younger man, and the Mexican aristocrat shakes his head. He'd thought about it every night since August the 5th, considering other ways he could've gone about all of this, not seeing a different way out of the situation. "It wouldn't have worked," he breathes. "He was too loyal... He needed to hate me... and I accomplished it."

"And was it worth it?" Mike demands, eyes flashing as he stares at the taller man. "Truly?" But before he can ask anything else, or Alberto could possibly think of a proper response, AJ Lee and Tamina Snuka approaches them, quickly distracting Mike from his trying to figure Alberto out. Thankfully, the former GM wants to leave, so he barely glances back at Del Rio before taking his bags and AJ's and pushing the door open for them, leaving the distressed superstar behind with his heavy thoughts.

"Ay, Ricardo," he breathes out, pressing a fist to his forehead. "I can't think of any other way I could've accomplished this... but perhaps, on some level, Miz is right..."

The conversation with Mike still fresh on Alberto's mind, he considers going home as usual for a few days before Smackdown and discussing it with Sofia, but he can't bear the thought of facing her. Not when he's still trying to sort through his own anger and uncertainty involving the World title loss, and now Miz's description of how Ricardo is fairing. Alberto had known, on some level, how hard it truly was for the younger man but to honestly have it spelled out to him in no uncertain terms... He swallows and closes his eyes, shaking his head. It had made sense at the time, or at least he thought it had, but now... He buries his face in his hands, grunting slightly. "What have I done..."

He spends the next few days holed up in his hotel room, staring blankly ahead, thinking. Wondering if he'll ever have the opportunity to make any of this right... but Ricardo hasn't been at an event in around a month, and he's not about to go to Alex's apartment and risk ruining yet another place of comfort for the former ring announcer. By the time Smackdown rolls around, he's tired and feeling more than a little rough around the edges. He hasn't slept well, nor ate that much, in he's not sure how long and he just wants to go home and let Sofia work her magic finally, but there's a European tour on the horizon and he won't have the chance to, as well as adding jet lag to the already building madness within him.

And this is the excuse he finds himself using when he tries to explain his title loss. Not that he's disgusted with himself, or had been thinking about Ricardo, or anything else along those lines... no. He explains that he was ill, he'd had a fever, and a messed up knee and elbow and... He has no idea what he might've spat out next, if not for Cena's music interrupting. He closes his eyes, glaring up the ramp at the obnoxious perro who had stolen his title belt, unable to do anything but listen as Cena mocks him his weakness. He sneers, thinking. _Si, of course, this is the sort of person these peasants wish to cheer. Mocking my claims of illness... and even if I had been truly sick, he still would mock, because that is the kind of man John Cena is. _But he can't help it, his anger is just as much for himself as it is for the man before him, his racing thoughts reminding him of all of the times Ricardo had been ill or injured and Del Rio had allowed him to push himself, continue to assist Alberto in whatever he'd needed, no matter how much to his own detriment.

But before he can even attempt to get _his_ time to talk back on track, Cena abruptly offers him his rematch for the title- tonight. The opportunity all Del Rio can focus on now, he has just accepted it when... Vickie Guerrero interrupts, Alberto's face tightening with annoyance and aggravation as he remembers all that she's done to him the past month. Of course, she takes his chance away from him and reschedules it to the upcoming Survivor Series PPV. Alberto's odd week of agreeing with those he hates continues when Cena insults Vickie, and he concurs without thinking.

The General Manager of course takes offense to it and puts them both in individual matches... Del Rio's starting next, his opponent Khali. The man is large and tall, though his size makes him slow, he's still formidable when he gets his hands on the Mexican aristocrat and he lands harshly on his arm on the outside, scrambling to keep it together just long enough to survive this, lock in his armbar... which he does, twisting as best as he can on the awkwardly sized man until finally he gives up, Alberto's breath leaving him in a relieved rush of oxygen. He visits the trainer just long enough to get his arm looked at and some ice before ducking back into the main locker room.

His only comfort is that a fair amount of the superstars are in Europe already, so it's quiet and subdued for the most part, everyone minding their own business as the show heads towards its conclusion. Allows him to think and try to recollect himself before he too has to prepare for the trip overseas. It won't be his first time making such a trip alone, there having been an overseas tour during the very end of Ricardo's suspension, but this will be different none-the-less. He closes his eyes and sighs, finally turning his attention back to the show when Cena's match against Ryback begins.

Midway through the match, he tosses the icepack to the corner of the room, where it lands with a mushy kind of thud against the tiles, before making his way to gorilla to watch the rest of the show. Keep an eye on what Cena's doing, see if any opportunity makes itself known. Just so he can focus on anything _but_ the sorts of thoughts that have been rattling around his skull all night. Finally it comes, when Cena has defeated Ryback... and Alberto runs out, overpowering the new World Champion briefly... but it doesn't last. Cena recovers way too quickly and Del Rio is forced to retreat, watching from the ramp as Cena holds _his_ title and celebrates with the WWE Universe.

Alberto feels truly ill now, unsure what he's going to do. If he _can_ do anything for yet another important thing in his life...


End file.
